Ned Stark Lives!
by cbstevp
Summary: What would have happened in Westeros if Ned Stark had lived? An alternate version of George R.R. Martin's Game of Thrones series of books.
1. Chapter 1 Varys

**Ned Stark Lives! Chapter 1 Varys**

_An alternate version of George R.R. Martin's 'Game of Thrones', based on the books, asking what would happen if Ned Stark had lived. The story picks up soon after Ned Stark's arrest and Sansa pleading for his life. Arya is still on the loose, Tyrion has escaped from the Vale, and Stannis and Renly Baratheon are making plans to take the Iron Throne. Robb Stark is moving to the Riverlands and Tywin Lannister and his son Jaime are planning to meet his army. Yoren is in King's Landing, recruiting for the Night's Watch. Each chapter will be from one of the character' viewpoints, much like in the books. How many chapters, that I don't know yet. Of course, Mr. Martin is the owner of all and I humbly walk in his footsteps._

King Robert Baratheon was dead. The history books would write that he was killed by a boar that ripped his guts open while he was hunting in the Kingswood. But Varys knew the real truth, that King Robert's squire Lancel Lannister had fortified the king's wine and made sure he had plenty of it. Enough so that his spear did not aim true when the boar thundered down on the king. Varys' little birds told him these things and that Queen Cersei also had a hand in this and that she was fucking Lancel on the side.

But Varys now faced a more difficult problem as he made his way to the meeting of the new king's small council. The death of King Robert had set in motion a sequence of events for which Varys, most unusually, was not prepared for. The eunuch was not called master of whispers, or the Spider by the more ungracious, for nothing. But it was too soon for war. Oh yes, he wanted war, but in a year's time, six months at the earliest. Yet, other people wanted war sooner and he knew who that was. Lord Petyr Baelish, Littlefinger, had lied to the Stark's about the knife that had been used to try to kill their son Brandon in Winterfell. Varys knew it for a lie the moment he heard about Littlefinger's explanations. Tyrion Lannister, younger brother of the Queen, had no more reason to harm Brandon Stark than Varys did. Yet, that opening lie set off a wave of idiocy that was about to engulf the seven kingdoms in pools of blood. Ned Stark's son Robb was in open rebellion against the new King Joffery and Ned Stark sat in a dark, dreary cell.

Varys also knew the reason Ned Stark opposed Joffery. He knew Joffrey was a bastard. Even worse, he was a bastard born of incest. His true father was not Ned's friend Robert Baratheon, but his supposed uncle Jaime Lannister, twin brother of Queen Cersei. Stark had been stupid enough to tell the Queen he knew her secret. He had openly defied Joffery as king once Robert was dead. And now Lord Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, was under arrest for treason and his son had called his bannermen to help save his father. Varys had only one chance to head off open warfare. Stark's daughter Sansa had pleaded for his life. Stark had agreed to take the black and join the Night's Watch. Varys now had to convince Queen Cersei and her son, the new King Joffrey. It would not be easy.

The small council sat around the table in the room behind the throne room. The new king was present, hardly the grieving son who had buried his father so recently. His mother the Queen sat next to him, looking radiant as ever and also looking a might too cheerful for a woman who just buried her husband. Then there was Petyr Baelish, Littlefinger, master of coin, who created money out of thin air and had so many plots of his own even Varys had trouble keeping up with them. Last of all was Grand Maester Pycelle, healer and adviser to the crown, in his grey robes with his heavy linked chain around his neck. Varys knew the Grand Maester was a creature of the Lannister clan, and had been for a long time, even when Mad King Aerys sat on the Iron Throne.

"You're late, Lord Varys," said Joffrey in an insolent way as Varys made his way to the council table.

"Forgive me, Your Grace," Varys replied in his most obsequious manner as he sat. "I have just come from the black cells. Lord Stark has agreed to make a full confession to his treason as long as he is allowed to take the black and no harm comes to his daughters."

"He must order his son to disband his armies and pledge fealty to me here in King's Landing," Joffrey said at once. "Then I will let him take the black, but not before."

"A prudent safeguard, Your Grace," Pycelle said at once, ever the lick spittle.

Littlefinger shook his head. "Your Grace, Robb Stark will not come to King's Landing. His grandfather and uncle came here once and never left. His sisters and father came here and the same has happened. He is a child, but I think not so stupid."

Cersei nodded. "He will want his father freed first. If not, he will go to war." She looked to Varys. "Where are his forces now?"

"Already the Stark host has crossed the Twins and marches towards the Riverlands," Varys reported. "Your lord father's host moves to meet them."

"A war would be ruinous for the kingdoms," added Littlefinger. "Best to avoid it if at all possible. Let Stark take the black and order his son home." He sounded so truthful, Varys almost believed him.

"What if he decides to join his son's army?" asked Queen Cersei. "What if he decides to lead it?"

"Lord Stark is an honorable man if nothing else," said Varys. "Once he publicly pronounces his treason and we grant him the reprieve of joining the Night's Watch, he will honor that to his last breath."

Cersei nodded. "His honor is his undoing. But what you say may prove true. And if not, we will always have his daughters as hostage to his word. Let him take the black."

"If he is so honorable why did he try to take my throne?" Joffrey spat, anger clear in his tone. "He was my father's friend!"

The Queen shifted uncomfortable in her chair. "He was always jealous of your father. Your Uncle Jaime said that the day King's Landing fell Ned Stark almost took the throne for himself. He was just biding his time until your father was dead and unable to stop him."

All lies, Varys knew, but Joffrey was not mollified. "He should be executed for his treason."

Cersei stared at her son. "Our trusted advisers are right. We don't need a war. And your uncles Stannis and Renly are both claiming the throne as their right. We need fewer enemies, not more."

Joffrey bristled for a moment. "My uncles. What right do they have? I am first in line. The Iron Throne is mine!"

"Of course it is," Cersei said sweetly. "They are liars who always feared and were jealous of your father. They will pay for their disloyalty. But we must deal with the Starks and the northmen first."

Joffrey calmed down. He turned to Varys. "Then let him take the black. But Sansa and the other one stay here."

"Of course, Your Grace," said Varys.

"Have we found the other one?" asked Pycelle in his slow growl. "What is the child's name?"

"Arya," Littlefinger told him.

"She was with her dancing master but he interfered when our men tried to seize her and she escaped," Cersei said. "But she will be found."

"He is no dancing master, Your Grace," Varys said softly. "His name is Syrio Forel and he was the first sword to the Sealord of Braavos for many years.'

Cersei's eyes narrowed. "Why did Stark have such a man teaching her dancing?"

Varys would have laughed at the absurdity of her question but did not dare. "He was teaching her how to use a sword, Your Grace, not how to dance."

"These northerners and their strange ways," commented Littlefinger. "A girl with a sword." He made a scoffing sound.

Cersei glared at him. "Just because we women lack a sword between our legs does not mean we cannot wield one in our hand." Littlefinger at least had the decency to look abashed at the rebuke. She then looked back to Varys. "Where is the Braavosi sword master now?"

"Dead, killed defending the Stark girl."

"Good," said Joffrey with a sneer. "And where is she?"

"No one has located her yet," said Varys. "But many are looking."

"See that she is found, alive," ordered the Queen. "With two Stark children in hand we can trust Lord Stark to keep his promises and bring their brother to heel. But find her, and find her fast."

"A substantial reward will bring her to us more quickly," Littlefinger stated.

Varys shook his head. "All it will bring us is false rumors and the corpses of little girls with their faces slashed off who they claim is Arya Stark."

Cersei turned a scornful look to Littlefinger. "We do not want our enemies to know we do not have her yet." She then glanced back at Varys. "No public reward. Make subtle inquires."

"As you command," said Varys, feeling pleased that Baelish had been twice rebuked in one meeting. "There is more news, Your Grace," Varys continued. "Good news this time. Your brother Lord Tyrion has been freed from the Vale."

Cersei did not seem pleased at all at that news, nor Joffrey, who stared sullenly at Varys. "How?" Cersei asked, after a bit too long a silence, her lips pursed so tight the word barely escaped her mouth.

"Apparently he asked for trial by combat and a sellsword championed him," Varys explained. "When the sellsword defeated Lady Lysa's champion Lord Tyrion was set free. The sellsword went with him. They befriended some hill tribesmen and they are now at your father's camp."

Cersei gave a small snort. "Well, he was the cause of this unrest. If there is a fight I hope father puts him in the front ranks so he can atone for his stupidity at letting Catelyn Stark capture him. Is that all the news?"

"Just one more item, Your Grace," Varys told her. "We have had reports from across the Narrow Sea that Daenerys Targaryen is with child. The late king sent out assassins to deal with her, but Lord Stark said King Robert had a change of heart as he neared death. What shall we do now?"

"Kill her," Joffrey spat out. "And her unborn brat and her horse-faced husband. Kill them all!"

"As the King commands," Cersei told Varys. "We will have no pretenders for the throne, here or across the Narrow Sea. Now, as for Eddard Stark. I think on the morrow he should confess his treason before the people on the steps of the Sept of Baelor."

Joffrey screwed up his face, as if he was thinking too hard. "Don't the Starks pray to the old gods? What good is having him confess before gods he does not believe in?"

"He will confess before all the gods, old and new, and the people, Your Grace," Pycelle said. "And they will judge him harshly and publicly support you."

"The Grand Maester is right," Cersei told her son. "There are some religious overtones to this confession. But it must be a public confession before the people."

"He better confess," Joffrey said. "If he doesn't, off with his head!"

"That would surely cause open warfare, Your Grace," said Littlefinger.

"Stark will take the black after you mercifully grant him his life," Cersei told her son in a commanding tone. "He will order his son to cease his preparations for war. That will put an end to all this foolishness."

"With one exception, Your Grace," said Varys.

She bristled. "What exception?"

"The Starks still believe Lord Tyrion had something to do with Brandon Stark's fall and the subsequent attempt to murder him. They will not forget that so easily."

Cersei looked away from him and in that instant Varys knew she had something to do with it. "Tyrion has been judged before the gods," Cersei said, still looking away. "Catelyn Stark was there when he was tried? She saw the fight?" Cersei looked at Varys and he nodded. "So, by all the laws of the seven kingdoms he is innocent and that is an end to it."

"Truly," said Littlefinger. "As far as Lord Tyrion is concerned, Your Grace. But Lord Varys is correct. These northerners have long memories."

Joffrey stood, anger clear on his face. "They can take their memories to the grave! Our family had nothing to do with it. He just fell, clumsy boy."

"The fall, yes, Your Grace," said Varys. "But who paid a man to cut his throat with a Valyrian steel dagger with a dragon bone hilt?"

"I bet he was just a common thief," Joffrey said, his eyes darting about, his voice strained. Now that was interesting, thought Varys. Why is the King looking and sounding so guilty?

"Of course," said Varys. "Such dreadful scum are common everywhere."

Cersei also stood and lay on a hand on her son's arm. "My lords, the meeting is at an end. We thank you for your advice. See to the preparations for Stark's confession and his new career as a man of the Night's Watch." With that she and the King strode from the room, not even caring that the others had stood and bowed to them.

Varys sat again with the other two for a moment longer. "I think we have avoided war."

"For the moment at least," said Littlefinger.

Pycelle gave a grunt. "Time will tell. The north has been wronged, and they will not forget."

Littlefinger feigned shock. "Wronged? Stark tried to remove Joffery from the throne. I think he got what he deserved."

"A folly," said Pycelle. "Stupidity. But this business about his son. What reason would Lord Tyrion have to harm the boy? None. But Catelyn Stark seemed to think he did. Why?"

Varys knew and glanced at Littlefinger, who also knew, having accused Tyrion Lannister of owning the knife that the assassin had used to try to kill Brandon Stark. Varys sighed heavily. "She must have her reasons. Who knows a parent's mind when it comes to the safety of their children?"

"Certainly not you," Littlefinger quipped.

"And how many brats have you sired, dear Petyr?" Varys asked in a mocking manner.

"None that I know of. But at least I am still capable."

"My Lords," Pycelle said in a loud voice. "This bickering is most unbecoming. I suppose we must wait Lord Tyrion's return to the capital to know the truth of the matter."

"Indeed," said Varys, glancing at Littlefinger who was busy closing his accounts ledger book. "If there is nothing more, I have matters to attend to." He looked at Pycelle. "I shall deal with the Night's Watch man if you can deal with the High Septon concerning the use of Baelor for Stark's confession."

Pycelle agreed and Varys made polite goodbyes and left soon after. He had much to do. First he needed to contact the man from the Night's Watch who had so recently come to the capital. Varys happened to know he was in a sleeping cell in the lower levels of the Hand's Tower, courtesy of Lord Stark. He sent a messenger to tell Yoren to come to a certain corridor below the castle at a certain hour. He did not say who the message was from just to be there if he wanted to look over the prisoners from the dungeons for the Night's Watch. Then Varys retired to his sparse rooms and set about gathering the whispers his little birds had heard over the last few hours. Some came to him with written messages, others came and told him secrets in hushed voices.

Of all the news the most important was there was no news of Arya Stark. Good, Varys thought. It would not do to have the Lannisters have two Stark hostages. For his own plans Varys might have need of Eddard Stark and his son. The Starks had no love the Lannisters now, not after all that had happened. If Varys' plans were to come to fruition in the future, his cause might need Stark swords against Lannister ones. But that was the future. For now, he hoped to find Arya and have her sent home somehow. But she had disappeared, somewhere in the city. He only hoped she was still alive. If she were dead, and the Starks somehow blamed the Lannisters, open warfare could not be avoided.

Then he thought upon another matter. His little birds told him Joffery was making inquires about his father's bastards. Some were far away and safe. Others were here in the capital. One was named Gendry, an armorer's apprentice in the Street of Steel. Seven years ago when the boy's mother had died, King Robert had ordered Varys to find the boy a useful trade and to pay the appropriate fees. He also told Varys to make sure no one knew about Gendry and that the boy was to never know who his true father was. All was taken care of. But now Varys worried that Joffrey's anger would lash out at his supposed father's base born children. He giggled to himself. Would Joffery cut his own throat if he also knew he was a bastard?

Varys had no love for Robert Baratheon or his bastards, so set these thoughts aside for the moment. Robert's bastards had no claim to the Iron Throne so this would not upset the other plans Varys was hatching across the Narrow Sea. Still, maybe something could be done for Gendry, if only to keep that distraction around to fluster Joffery and his mother a bit longer.

As the hour approached to meet Yoren, Varys took a lantern and left his rooms though a secret passageway and made his way deep into the black tunnels beneath the castle. After many twists and turns he came to a small room where he changed into his goaler's disguise. His name was Rugen in this guise and he was in charge of the third level of cells. Normally he had naught to do with the upper levels of cells, but he needed to deal with this Yoren fellow and he arranged for chief undergoaler Longwaters to drink some dreamwine with his lunch and knew he would be fast asleep. Varys, in his Rugen disguise, went to the upper levels and soon after found Yoren waiting for him.

"I'm here for the prisoners for the Night's Watch," Yoren said in a gruff voice. He smelled of sweat and ale, Varys noted, although he was also reeking a bit, as part of his disguise.

"Lord Stark said you could have whoever we got, if you likes the looks of them," Varys told him in an uncouth rough raspy voice. "Course he's here hisself now, ain't he? Ha. One day a lord, the next a prisoner."

"The gods are not just sometimes," said Yoren with a heavy sigh.

"Might be they are," said Varys. "Had word that Lord Stark is to take the black."

"Aye? And whose word would that be?" Yoren asked, full of mistrust.

"The King's word. And if you don't believe me go ask him yourself. Course, he might shorten you by a head for bothering him."

"Right," Yoren replied. "The Night's Watch could do with a good man like Lord Stark. Man likes of him will end up commander some day."

"You'll have to wait on the morrow to see him," said Varys in his goaler's voice. "The rest you can look over and tomorrow you can have them that decides to take the black."

They walked down the corridor that was lit with torches on the walls. Varys held his lantern up high as they came to the first door. Varys handed the lantern to Yoren and took out a set of keys and a role of parchment. He opened the door and they stepped into a large cell that held about ten men and boys. It was dimly light by a torch high in a wall bracket, a courtesy for these cells since the criminals were of a minor nature. The occupants knew if they messed with the torch or lit any fires it would be taken from them and men could go mad in the darkness, even with companions. The floor was covered in dirty dried rushes and a latrine bucket in the corner was almost overflowing. The place reeked of shit, piss, and stale sweat.

The prisoners were a ragged lot, most of them in dirty clothing. Many had matted beards and long greasy hair. Several were in ankle chains but most weren't. Two of them were younger looking than the rest. One of these had blond hair and green stains up to his elbows and the other was dark haired and quite chubby. They sat together in a corner staring at the other prisoners. It seemed very tense in the cell.

"What's all this about?" Varys asked in a rough tone.

"We was just wondering what the fat one there tasted like," said one prisoner. "We ain't been fed in over a day." The rest growled their complaints about the lack of food.

"Food is coming, bread and mutton stew," Varys told them. "Someone wants to talk to you lot first."

Yoren stepped into the cell and it grew silent as they got a look at him and his black clothing.

"Right, you filthy lot of scumbags," he said in a commanding tone. "You are all criminals, condemn to be punished and spend long years in these cells or maybe hang from your neck till dead. I'm Yoren, from the Night's Watch. We have need of men and don't care where you're from or what you did. Any man joins the Night's Watch gets a clean slate. All your crimes are pardoned. The Wall is cold but we got food on the Wall and we'll train you to use arms. Any man with a trade is doubly welcome. Boys, too. But know this. You join the Night's Watch, it's for life. We take no wives, father no children, have no lands or homes we call our own. You desert and we'll have your head off."

There was a long silence and then one prisoner spoke. "You got whores at the Wall?" he asked and more than a few laughed.

"No," said Yoren. "But there's a whorehouse in Moles Town nearby. You ain't supposed to go but we always ain't got both eyes open if you know what I mean." All the men laughed now, even the two boys. "We need men," Yoren said again. "The Wall is long and isn't likely to be getting shorter. Any man who joins will be my brother once he says the words of our oath."

Varys noticed a few of them held their heads up a bit higher as Yoren said this. Some men just need a second chance to atone for life's mistakes. Joining the Night's Watch was one way to do this.

"The goaler will read off your names and any man wants to join comes with me on the morrow," Yoren told them. "It's a long ride but we have food and the fresh air and exercise will do you good. Right, let's start with the two boys. Who are they?" he asked Varys.

Varys looked at the parchment in the light of the lantern Yoren held. "Lommy Greenhands and Hot Pie."

"Seven hells, what kind of names are those?" Yoren asked with a scowl.

"The names they gave," said Varys. "Both here for petty thievery."

"I ain't a thief," the fat one said. "I was just…hungry." That brought more laughter. "I'm called Hot Pie cause I always pushed my mum's pie cart through the streets yelling 'hot pie', so everyone calls me Hot Pie. Then she died and she owed money for the shop so some men came and said it was theirs now and kicked me out in the street. I ain't got nowhere to go, no coin for food."

"Can you bake?" Yoren asked him.

"Sure. Bake best bread and pies you ever tasted."

"Boy, you want it, you got a new home."

Hot Pie hesitated. "Is it really cold on the Wall?"

"Always," said Yoren solemnly. "But it'll be warm in the kitchens."

Hot Pie smiled and stood. "I'm coming."

The blond haired boy with green arms stood. "I'm Lommy. You need dyer's apprentices?"

"Aye," Yoren told him. "But you won't see no green cloaks on the Wall. Only black. We'll have your arms so dark you'll look like a Summer Islander."

"I'll take the black."

"Good lad."

Soon others joined them as Varys read off the names. One was a man skilled with a bow who was caught poaching on the king's land. Others were thieves, one was a rapist, and two more were here for beating a man near to death in a tavern fight over a card game.

"He was cheating," said one.

"So was we," said the other. "He just cheated better than us."

"You'll never cheat your black brothers or it's the rope for you," Yoren told them. They both volunteered. With five more from another cell, and eight in another, Yoren soon had almost thirty men.

Varys then led him deep in the dungeons to the lowest cell levels. Here it was pitch black and the light from the lantern struggled to fight the darkness. Soon they came to a strong iron door. Varys again produced his keys, found the right one and opened the door.

"Get that fuckin' light outta me eyes or I'll fuck you bloody with it!" came a harsh growl from inside the cell."

The cell held three men, all chained ankle and wrist, one of them also chained to the wall. The one who had yelled had a hole where his nose should be and scowled at them as he shielded his eyes. The one chained to the wall hissed at them and showed a set of sharp teeth, but said nothing. The third man sat calmly in a corner, with his head turned slightly away from the harsh light. He looked handsome compared to the other two, and though it was hard to tell in the semi-darkness Varys knew he had red hair on one side and white hair on the other.

"Food!" yelled the one with no nose. "Where's our bloody food?"

"Soon," said Varys.

"What are they in here for?" Yoren asked.

"Who speaks?" asked the calm man in the corner. He had a strange accent and Varys knew he was from Lorath, one of the Free Cities across the Narrow Sea.

Yoren stepped into the cell. "Yoren of the Night's Watch. Come to see if you want to take the black."

"Fuck you!" yelled no nose. "The Wall is colder than an old whore's teat and you black brothers ain't allowed no whores anyways!"

"This one is a rapist," Varys told Yoren. "Did a dozen women, some young girls, and even a boy. Said he thought it was a girl. Rorge is the only name he gave."

"How did he lose the nose?"

"A whore cut it off!' Rorge said in a growl. "So now I does the same for them."

"He's for the rope on the morrow," Varys said.

"What's that now?" Rorge said in surprise, sounding worried. "No one said nothin' about no hangin' on the morrow!"

Varys smirked at him. "So now you know! It's that or take the black, if Yoren will take scum like you."

Yoren gave Rorge his nastiest stare. "We have plenty of rapists up there. But you rape again, we take your balls."

"Hanging or the Wall?" asked Varys and after a moment Rorge spat and said "The Wall." Varys knew why he said it. Rorge had no intention of going to the Wall. But it was a way out of these cells and it was a long trip north. Anything could happen to give a man a chance to escape. He hoped Yoren slept with one eye open.

"This one here doesn't speak and has no name that we know of," Varys told Yoren as they shone the light on the man chained to the Wall.

"This man calls that man Biter," said the calm man in the corner. "No sound comes from his mouth but hisses."

"He killed a whore in Flea Bottom and tried to chew the teats off her," Varys told Yoren. "He's for the rope tomorrow also."

Biter growled and spat and shook his chains. Yoren looked at him. "The rope or the Wall?"

Biter stopped struggling and then hit his manacled hands on the wall of the cell, once, twice, then three times. "The Wall," said Varys. Then he shone the light on the calm man and was about to speak when the man spoke first.

"This man has the honor to be Jaqen H'ghar of the Free City of Lorath."

"We ain't got too many foreigners on the Wall but we'll take you if you're willing. What's his crime?" Yoren asked Varys.

Varys looked at his scroll of parchment. "Murder."

Yoren stared at Jaqen. "Who did you kill and why?

"A man needs money to return to his homeland. So a man must take jobs other men will not take. A merchant needs to get some money from a certain man who owed a debt. This man was to find him in a certain house, a rich man's house. His guards let this man enter. When this man came to the rich man's solar he was dead at the table with a slit throat. The dead man's daughter, a girl of eight, saw this man and screamed. The guards cornered this man on the roof of the house. This roof is very high, too high to jump. This man killed two before being knocked unconscious."

Varys knew it was true, except he was sure Jaqen H'ghar had slit the dead man's throat and the guards never knew he was in the house till the girl had screamed. The story had come to him the day Jaqen H'ghar was sent to the black cells. The dead man's guards had tried to get him to confess who had hired him and beat him, but he had refused to tell. Then they turned him over to the gold cloaks of the City Watch. There was no trial, not with three deaths and so many witnesses.

"So you claim you're innocent?" Yoren asked and Jaqen just bowed his head slightly.

"Not the first time I heard that," scoffed Varys in his rough jailer's voice. "He's for the rope with these two on the morrow."

But Jaqen H'ghar did not flinch like the other two when told this news. "As the Red God commands," he said. "_Valar morghulis_. All men must die."

At that moment Varys knew who and what he was. A Faceless Man, an assassin. They were renowned for their ability to kill silently and escape without notice. Had he erred? Had he been unable to kill a young girl to make his escape? And what was he doing so far from the Free Cities? Faceless Men rarely did their work in Westeros. One thing he could guess with certainty. Jaqen H'ghar was not the name he was born with and perhaps even his face was not his own.

"Aye, all men must die," said Yoren to Jaqen. "But you don't have to die tomorrow. There's a place on the Wall for you."

"This man accepts your generous offer," Jaqen told him and then Varys and Yoren left, followed by the curses of Rorge to bring food and empty the piss bucket.

"Those three will be trouble, especially Rorge and Biter," Varys told Yoren as they made their way to the upper levels.

"Not the most dangerous lot I've ever transported to the Wall. I got a nice cage for those three, not to worry. And any trouble and no one will raise a fuss if I cut their throats."

"As you say," Varys said and soon they made arrangements to have the prisoners sent to the Mud Gate in the morning. After Yoren said his goodbyes Varys retrieved food for his prisoners in the lower cells. After he gave them bread and bowls of potato and mutton stew to the three who had decided to join the Night's Watch, he made his way back through the dark to where Ned Stark was confined to a cell with a stout door.

Stark blinked rapidly as the light of Varys' lantern came into his cell. Soon Stark recognized him.

"Lord Varys. What news?"

"First, eat my lord," said Varys. He had a bag with him from which he produced a roasted half of a chicken and a skin of wine. Ned Stark fell to the food like a starved man and drank deeply of the wine while Varys talked.

"Queen Cersei and King Joffery have agreed to allow you to take the black."

Stark paused in his chewing and leaned against the wall and swallowed. "Only if I confess to being a traitor."

"Yes. Publicly. On the steps of the Sept of Baelor tomorrow."

Stark snorted. "A public confession. Wise. They want me to support Joffrey's rule."

"It seems that is their intention."

Stark took another drink. "And my daughters?"

"Sansa is well but…"

"Arya?" Stark asked in a thick voice.

"There is still no word. Not even I can find her. She has disappeared."

To his surprised Stark smiled. "She has a wildness to her. She won't be found because she doesn't want to be found."

"As you say, my lord. But if they find her first, they mean to make hostages of both your daughters so you keep your word."

"My word is good," said Ned Stark. "It's all I have left. But all Lannisters are liars. That's why they don't trust anyone else's word."

"Well said, my lord. These liars have added one more condition. You are to find your son Robb and order him to disband his army and send his men home."

"If he'll listen to me," Stark said. "Robb is Lord of Winterfell now. My title passes to him permanently once I take the black."

"My lord, this is a condition Cersei will not budge from. They mean to see an end to this rebellion. At least his part in it. That will free the Lannister armies to deal with any threats from Robert's brothers."

"What news of Stannis and Renly?"

"My little birds tell me Renly is gathering a host to the south and has the support of Highgarden. As for Stannis, it is difficult to know what happens on Dragonstone. But he has let it be known he claims the Iron Throne as his brother's true heir."

"Will they fight together?"

Varys giggled. "I think not. I have a feeling Renly will declare himself king as well and Stannis will never abide by that as he is the elder surviving Baratheon."

"Madness," Stark said with a heavy sigh. "They should join forces."

"My lord, once you take the black I would council not getting involved in these rebellions. For the sake of your children if not for yourself."

"Is it a rebellion if a bastard sits on the Iron Throne?" Varys said nothing. "Tell me, master of whispers, how long have you known that all Cersei's children are her brother's children too?"

"I have known longer than anyone," confessed Varys. "I knew they were lovers even when the Mad King sat on the throne. I thought it might end when she married Robert. Alas, he only had love enough for your dear dead sister and could not love his new Queen. When Joffrey started to grow older and his blond hair shone like gold, I knew he was no Baratheon. And then came Mrycella and Tommen, equally as fair as their brother. Oh, Robert did sire children, most of them bastards with a shock of black hair and the blue eyes of the Baratheons."

"Jon Arryn knew."

"Yes, and asked too many questions. As did you. And here we are."

Stark was silent as he took another drink of the wine. Then he spoke, and surprised Varys. "There is a boy in the Street of Steel. One of Robert's sons."

"Gendry," said Varys and Stark gave him a sharp look. "I am the one who set him up as an apprentice per King Robert's command."

"Aye," said Stark. "Certain people might know Jon Arryn and I visited the boy. If so, he's in danger."

"Joffrey is already making inquiries into his supposed father's bastards. They cannot take the throne but I believe he wishes to do them harm."

"Perhaps you can do the boy another favor."

"Perhaps."

"The Night's Watch always need armorers.'

"Indeed," said Varys. "I will arrange it."

"There was another of Robert's bastards, a girl, daughter to a whore in one of Littlefinger's houses."

"She is but a babe, but I will see what I can do," Varys said. "Now, my lord, I need to know what you will say tomorrow."

Stark sighed. "I will confess. I will tell them I tried to take the throne and will put myself at the mercy of their justice."

"Very well, my lord," Varys said as he started to stand. But Stark grabbed him by the arm and stopped him.

"But know this, Varys. If any more harm comes to my family, there is not enough gold in all of Casterly Rock to buy my silence or stay my wrath. I will hunt them all to their graves."

Varys smiled. "I would expect nothing less, my lord."

With that Varys withdrew, made his way back to his rooms high above, and was soon wiping the grime of the prisons off his body. Afterward he changed into more suitable clothing for his next venture, a trip to the Street of Steel. He dressed all in black, a cowl covering his face, and again he slipped out through secret passageways. Some thirty minutes later he was at the armorer's shop where the boy Gendry worked. The boy was in the back pounding on a steel breastplate and did not notice Varys approach. A quiet word to his master, a handed over bag of silver, and the master promised to do what was asked, though he seemed a bit reluctant to Varys.

Once more back in his rooms, Varys lit some candles as night came on. He began to read the reports that came to him all hours of the day. He was getting ready for bed when a soft knock came to his door. It was one of his little birds, a girl who served as a hand maid in the King's chambers. She was but ten years old and had lovely brown hair and green eyes and was known for her ability to remember conversations exactly.

"Come my child," said Varys as she sat at his table and he gave her some watered wine to sip. "What news of our new King?"

"He had a visitor an hour past. Lord Baelish."

Varys' eyes narrowed. "Indeed. And?"

"Lord Baelish wanted to discuss some money issues but the King said it could wait, he wanted to be fresh for when Ned Stark was shamed in front of the kingdom tomorrow. Baelish then said 'I think it wise of your mother to command you to spare Ned Stark.'"

Varys knew what game Littlefinger was playing here. "And the King's reply?"

"He got angry, and said 'I gave the order. I am the King. If I wanted to kill Stark I would in a second.' Then Lord Baelish said 'Of course, that is your right. You are the King and Stark is a traitor.' Then Lord Baelish left."

Varys handed her two silver stags, double her usual weekly rate, and her eyes lit up. "You have done well my child. Get some sleep now." After he dismissed her Varys sat thinking for a long time. Finally, he made a decision. He opened a hidden panel in the stone wall of his room. Inside were many vials and jars. He took a bottle, closed the panel, and then summoned another of his little birds, a young boy, gave a command and gave the bottle to the young boy. Finally, Varys slept, and slept well, knowing he had done all he could to set things right. Tomorrow would be a busy day, and hopefully Ned Stark would still have his head when it was over.

The next morning after a light breakfast Varys washed and powdered himself and perfumed his body before donning robes of lavender. He made his way to the small council chamber where the Queen was already sitting with Littlefinger and Janos Slynt, commander of the City Watch. Varys made his good mornings, sat, and then noticed the tension in the room.

"The King is ill," Cersei told him through pursed lips.

"Oh, dear," said Varys. "Not seriously I trust?"

"An affliction of the stomach," Littlefinger said. "After he broke his fast he was taken ill. Pycelle is purging him now."

"We must delay Stark's confession," Cersei said.

"Your Grace," Slynt began. "Already crowds are gathering at Baelor. The word has spread."

"If we delay it could mean trouble," added Varys. "We must have Stark proclaim Joffrey the true king even if the King is not present. Already whispered rumors are spreading."

Cersei knew what rumors these were Varys knew, and she did not question him.

"There is more word of Renly Baratheon," added Varys. "He is in Highgarden and they appear to be about to support his claim."

Cersei closed her eyes and sighed. "And Stannis? What news of him?"

"Only that he is still on Dragonstone and still claims he is the rightful king."

"Saying he is king does not make him king," said Littlefinger. "As for Highgarden, perhaps a Dornish alliance will make them look over their shoulders and think twice about advancing on King's Landing."

"Dorne has no love for us," said Cersei. "Doran Martell's sister and her children were killed during the Sack of King's Landing if you recall."

"Quite true," said Varys. Well, not exactly true, but he would take that information to the grave.

"We must have father's armies," Cersei said suddenly. "Send him a raven and command him to come here at once."

"As you command, Your Grace," Varys replied. "But it will take time. And he may not come."

"I am the Queen Regent. His grandson is the King. He will obey."

Varys knew he would _not _obey. Tywin Lannister never obeyed anyone in his family. He was the lion of Casterly Rock, not one of the lambs. "He will come much faster if the Stark bannermen are headed north to their homes."

Cersei gave him a sharp stare and then turned to Slynt. "Stark is to be brought to Baelor in a half an hour. Make sure there are enough men to keep the crowds at bay. You may leave us."

"As you command, Your Grace," Slynt said with a short bow and then left the room in a hurry.

"And the King?" Littlefinger asked. "He would surely like to be there when Stark confesses. And he must pardon him."

Cersei gave the master of coin a withering look. "I am the Queen Regent. I have the power to grant life or death to any traitor."

"Beg pardon, Your Grace," said Littlefinger in a fawning manner. "Of course, that is your right."

Varys felt mighty pleased with himself, but kept a solemn face. "I do hope the King is better soon."

"It is but a minor illness," Cersei said, a touch of worry in her tone, however. She stood. "Come, my lords, it is time we heard a traitor confess."


	2. Chapter 2 Yoren

**Ned Stark Lives! Chapter 2 Yoren**

The woman's stirring woke Yoren just after dawn. "I must get to the kitchens," she said as she sat up in his sleeping cell in the bottom of the Hand's Tower. "I have to help make the breakfast."

"Aye," Yoren replied. "But first you'll lay with me one more time." He reached out and stroked her fat bosom. She squealed and slapped his hand away.

"Randy devil," she said with a grin. She was blond and plump and young, just the way Yoren liked them. He always took a woman his last night in the capital, and to the seven hells with his oaths. Sometimes he paid for it and sometimes he got lucky and a shy maid would lift her skirts for him. Some knew what he was and took pity on him, and others wanted to know if a black crow had a cock between his legs or if they were all gelded when they got to the Wall. This one had been no shy maid. He found her in the kitchens after he supped last night and asked her where the nearest whorehouse was. He knew where it was but he always asked a comely serving woman cause sometimes they were whores on the side. This one was no whore and asked for no coin and said a brave man of the Night's Watch need not pay for it. She stole a jug of ale from the kitchen and the two had retired to his sleeping cell. She couldn't have been older than twenty and Yoren felt all of his 48 years fall away as he plowed her senseless and screaming throughout the night.

She looked at him and saw he was stiff as a board again. She reached under the blanket and stroked him till he moaned. "Are all men of the Night's Watch so full up they need to do it four times in a night and a fifth in the morning?"

"Aye," he replied. "Especially when we only lay with a woman once a year. Come here child."

He pulled her down and tasted her lips. Soon she was on top of him, riding him and shuddering until he filled her with what little seed he had left. As they lay there afterward panting he advised her to drink some moon tea so she wouldn't get a big belly. Although she tried to refuse to take his coin he gave her a silver stag anyway and said she was worth a lot more.

As she dressed she asked when he was leaving for the Wall. "Today," he said.

"Is it true Lord Stark is going with you?"

He peered at her with narrowed eyes. "Where did you hear that?"

"All anyone in the kitchens was talking about last night. Someone heard Grand Maester Pycelle talking to the High Septon about it," she told him. "Said he was to take the black. After he confesses on the steps of Baelor this morning."

"Aye, 'tis true," said Yoren. "He's coming with me."

"Is he really a traitor?" she asked in a low whisper.

"Don't know," Yoren said. "Not my business and don't make it yours."

"Shame," she replied. "I liked him. He's a kind lord, not like most. Jon Arryn was too. Pity. Have they found his daughter?"

"What? Whose daughter you talking about?"

"Lord Stark's little one, Arya. I heard they can't find her."

"What's that?" Yoren asked sharply as he sat up.

"The Spider is offering coin for news of Arya Stark. She disappeared the day…the day the Lannisters killed the Hand's men."

Yoren sighed. "A terrible day. Now you best keep all these whispers to yourself. Safer that way. Off you go, and don't forget the moon tea."

After she left, Yoren had a quick wash from the cold water in the basin next to his bed. He drained the last of the ale in the jug, now warm and mostly dregs. Then he found the privy in the corridor, and soon after was dressed all in black with his weapons and bag of extra clothes and odds and ends. He made his way out of the Hand's Tower and was crossing the courtyard to the dining room off the kitchen where the Hand's guests could eat. Then he heard a voice behind him.

"I beg pardon, sir, but may I have a word?"

Yoren turned and saw a girl, tall, and with long auburn hair, wearing a pale blue dress. She was strikingly beautiful, and had lovely skin. But her face was sad, and next to her were two Lannister guardsmen.

"Aye, my lady, how may I be of service?"

"My name is Sansa Stark."

"The Hand's eldest daughter?"

"Yes," Sansa told him. "Are you from the Night's Watch?"

"That I am."

She wanted to say something but hesitated and glanced sideways at her two guards. Yoren looked at them. "You can keep an eye on her just as well from over there."

"Our orders are to not let her leave our sight," said one in a gruff tone.

"Aye, and unless you're a blind man she won't be." After a second of hesitation the two men walked away toward the kitchen door and stood, and kept an eye on them.

"Thank you," Sansa said in a lower voice. "I just wanted to ask if you have seen my father."

"Not yet," Yoren told her. "But he will be coming with me today. After he confesses."

"The King said they were taking him to the Sept of Baelor to confess his treason."

"True enough," Yoren told her. "Then he is to take the black. We'll be leaving as soon as he joins my group at the Mud Gate."

"The Mud Gate? That is near the wharves. Are you taking a ship north?"

"No, the Kingsroad. The Mud Gate is closest to the castle and the prison. I gather them there so I don't have to drag my charges across the city to the God's Gate."

"My father's leg is broken," Sansa said, her voice full of worry. "It's not fully healed. He cannot sit on a horse."

"He can lie in a wagon till he's better," Yoren told her. "Not to worry my lady, I will take care of your lord father."

"Thank you. What is your name, kind sir?"

"Yoren, my lady."

"I may not have a chance to say good-bye to my father. If...if you could pass a message, I would be grateful. Tell him, tell him…I'm sorry."

"Sorry? Aye, I can tell him that, but he may ask what you are sorry for."

A tear rolled down Sansa's cheek. "It was me," she said in a soft sob. "I…I told them we were leaving. I told the Queen. I wanted to stay, I wanted to be Joffery's wife, to be the Queen some day. It's all my fault."

Yoren did not know what to say to her. The poor girl was on the verge of breaking down, confessing her mistakes to a stranger. He leaned in close and whispered. "Now, child, do not weep. You are not to blame. They are. They attacked your father, they arrested him, they put him in a dungeon, not you."

She nodded. "You are kind to say so, but I know it was my fault. And now my father is exiled for life, and I am a prisoner and my sister, they won't let me see my sister. Maybe she is dead."

"Dead? No, she's not dead," Yoren told her. He whispered in a lower tone. "I heard that no one can find her, that's all. I'm sure she is alive."

Just then the guards approached. "It's time, Lady Sansa," said one. "The Queen requests your presence for breakfast."

"Goodbye," she said to Yoren, trying to mask her emotions behind a wall of courtesy. "Thank you."

"Stay safe, my lady," Yoren said with a slight bow and then they were leading her away.

Yoren spit on the ground. "Bloody Lannister bastards," he grumbled and then he turned and went in the dining room and sat on a bench. He was alone and he knew why. All the other men he ate with the first few days he was here were dead. All Lord Stark's household members who had come to King's Landing were dead except his daughter and those few he sent off with Beric Dondarrion to fight Gregor Clegane in the Riverlands.

He ordered breakfast, bacon, black bread, boiled eggs, and ale to wash it down. He tried not to eat rich fare in King's Landing cause when he got back at the Wall he knew he would miss it too much. Better to not know a thing than to know it once and miss it the rest of your life.

Yoren brooded on if he should tell Ned Stark what Sansa had said or not. It was not his place to tell her father such a thing. The child feared she would never see him again and had need to confess. Yoren was no septon, though, and wanted naught to do with other's secrets. But she had told him and now he knew. He could tell Stark, or not. No need to decide today, Yoren concluded, as he drained his mug of ale. The road to the Wall was long and maybe sometime in the future his daughter would see him again and be able to unburden herself and have him absolve her in person.

He found his prisoners at the Mud Gate, with six gold cloaks of the City Watch guarding them. Hot Pie and Lommy Greenhands were grinning and joking about, some other ones were stretching and blinking in the sun. The three from the black cells were in an iron cage in the back of a wagon and were manacled at the ankles and wrists. A goaler, one he didn't know, gave him a key for the manacles. He handed Yoren a piece of parchment and an ink dipped quill.

"Sign here," said the goaler. Yoren signed. "They're all yours. May the Seven help you," the goaler said as he departed.

Yoren counted the prisoners and then looked at the wagons and horses and donkeys the realm had given him for the Wall. The wagons were loaded with bales of sourleaf, hides, and cloth, bars of pig iron, bags of flour, pease, and oats, more food, and some weapons. As he was inspecting the donkeys a boy with dark black hair and blue eyes approached him. He had a bulls head shaped helmet in one hand, a sack in the other, and a hammer in a loop on his belt. He looked strong and was tall, with big shoulders and muscular arms, more man than a boy.

"I'm here to take the black," said the boy.

Yoren looked him over. "That so? And why would you want to do a stupid thing like that?" Yoren always questioned those who volunteered. He needed to know their history to know if they would be of any use and what they were running away from.

"Cause no one here wants me," said the boy. "My master told me this morning he was kicking me out, said I wasn't good enough and he had wasted seven years teaching me for nothing."

Yoren looked at the hammer and helmet. "You an armorer's apprentice?"

"Not anymore."

"You make that helmet?"

"Yes."

"What's your name boy?"

"Gendry."

"Gendry what?"

"Just Gendry."

"Where's your folks?"

"My mum is dead, long time ago. Never knew my father."

"So you're a bastard. That would make you Gendry Waters."

"I guess so."

"So your master kicked you out and you decides to take the black."

"He told me to come here if I wanted a place to live and food to eat. I got nowhere else to go."

"He gave you no reason?"

"Said I was no good. Said the Wall needed men."

"Aye, that we do," Yoren said and then softened his tone. "Look, Gendry, your master may have been just doing you a kindness. That helmet, you said you made it. Any man can see you are good at your trade. More than good. Now tell me the truth. You in any kind of trouble? You get some girl with a big belly?"

Gendry flushed. "No. Just…" Then he hesitated, and said no more.

"What? Tell me it all or you can stay here and rot."

Gendry sighed. "People been coming to see me, asking questions."

"What people?"

"Important people. The king's Hand…Hands…came to see me."

"Who? Which Hand?" Yoren asked, very surprised.

"Lord Arryn and then Lord Stark."

Why in seven hells would they want with this boy, Yoren thought. He don't look like much. Yoren looked at him carefully. But maybe he did look like someone, someone important. "What did they want?"

"Asking me questions about my mum, that's all." Yoren peered at him more closely. He had met the late king once or twice when asking for men for the Wall. He even drank with him one night telling stories about the Wall and the wild world beyond it. King Robert drank himself into a stupor but kept laughing and asking for more wine as Yoren told him about his adventures. He couldn't be sure but this boy had the Baratheon look.

"Right, you want to take the black, we'll take you. Go join the others."

Gendry nodded, mumbled his thanks, and then moved towards the wagons. Yoren turned and shouted at the prisoners. "You lot wait here. I'll be back soon enough. Any man tries to run the gold cloaks will drive a spear up his arse." No one said a word. Yoren spat and turned and walked away.

As he started walking across the city towards the Sept of Baelor many people also started heading that way. After a long walk he found himself hemmed in on many sides by the crowds that were gathering. The gold cloaks tried to keep them orderly but there were too many. Yoren no sooner found a spot where could at least see the steps when there was a yell behind him. The crowd roared as Eddard Stark was dragged by four gold cloaks though the crowd. He was limping and in pain, Yoren could see, and he looked like he hadn't shaven or bathed in weeks. But Ned Stark was a proud man and he kept his head held high even as people spit at him and yelled obscenities and called him a traitor.

Then Stark saw something and it drew his eyes to the left. Yoren followed his look and saw what he was looking at. On the statue of Baelor in front of the Sept sat a young boy…no, a girl. Yoren had only seen her once but knew who she was. Skinny, filthy, with long brown hair, wearing boy's clothes. The girl had a long face and the look of her father. A short dirk was in her belt on her right side.

As Ned Stark passed he saw Yoren and he looked at him sharply. "Baelor," he shouted above the noise of the crowd and Yoren understood. He muscled his way into the crowd but they pressed him tight and pushed him back towards the steps of the Sept of Baelor. Yoren could not move and had no choice but to wait until it was over.

Up on the steps were the Queen, the huge rotund High Septon, Sansa Stark, and many others, most of whom Yoren did not know. The fat bald one, that had to be the eunuch, the one they called the Spider. The thin man next to him was Lord Baelish. Yoren knew him because every time he came to the capital it was to Baelish he went begging to for the wagons and food and other supplies the Wall needed. Baelish begrudged him every copper spent for the Wall, even when Robert was alive and ordered Balish to give the Wall all they asked for. There were also several of the Kingsguard and Lannister men on the steps. Then Yoren noticed the new King was not there, nor Grand Maester Pycelle. Something was amiss.

They dragged Stark on his lame leg up to the steps and forced him to his knees. Gradually the crowd quieted and Stark spoke.

"I am Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Hand of the King and I have come before you to confess my treason in the sight of gods and men."

The crowd began to shout at him, calling him traitor. Stark spoke louder. "I betrayed the faith of my king and the trust of my friend Robert. I swore to defend and protect his children, yet before his blood was cold I plotted to depose and murder his son and seize the throne for myself. Let the gods old and new bear witness to what I say. Joffrey Baratheon is the one true heir to the Iron Throne, and by the grace of the gods, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm."

Then someone cast a stone and it hit Eddard Stark in the face. He staggered and blood sprang from a gash on his forehead. The crowd roared and more rocks came sailing towards the steps. The Kingsguard and Lannister men protected the Queen and the others, but Ned Stark received a few blows to the body from more rocks before the gold cloaks stood in front of him.

Yoren heard a girl's high voice behind him, screaming, "Leave him alone!" He turned and there she was, Arya Stark, her left hand on her sword hilt, pushing and wiggling her way through the crowd, her eyes moist with tears for her father. Yoren stooped low and blocked her path.

"Get out of my way!" she yelled and in the noise only Yoren heard her clearly.

"Girl, do you know me?" he shouted as he grabbed her by the shoulders.

She hesitated and for a second he thought she would draw her sword. "You're from the Night's Watch," she said.

"Aye, and your father is coming with me," he told her and the girl's eyes widened. "They aren't to kill him! He's to take the black!"

"But...he confessed!"

"It's part of the deal," Yoren told her. "Now you calm down and I'll get you out of here and you can come with us."

"What about Sansa?" Arya asked, her eyes searching for her sister behind him. "She's right there!"

"There's naught I can do for her unless you want to get us all killed," Yoren told her, and then the crowd started to grow silent again and they heard someone talking. Then Queen Cersei was speaking and it grew very quiet. Yoren and Arya looked toward the steps. Cersei was standing nearby Ned Stark, looking serious, yet glowing with joy at the same time.

"Lord Stark has confessed his crimes," Cersei shouted to the crowd. "For his crime of treason he is stripped of all titles and all lands, which pass to his son. The King, my son, has decided to show Eddard Stark mercy for the love his father once held for this traitor." She turned to look at Ned Stark. "Eddard Stark, you will take the black and become a man of the Night's Watch, to live out your days defending the realm from the wildlings beyond the Wall, as penance for your treason. Do you accept these terms?"

"I do, Your Grace," Stark said in a loud clear voice. But the crowd screamed for justice and there was more shouting and shoving and rocks thrown as the royal party and Stark and were led away from the steps of the Sept of Baelor and back into the Sept itself.

"Come on!" Yoren shouted to Arya and he dragged her through the crowd back the way he had come.

"I want to go with my father!" she yelled at him once they got into an alley.

"You'll do no such thing!' Yoren yelled back. "The Lannisters got your sister and they want you, too. I'm going to get you out of the city and take you home. I owe your father that much at least, for all the support the Starks of Winterfell have given the Wall over the years. Do you want to go home to Winterfell?"

"Yes," Arya said and then chewed her bottom lip. "But what about Sansa?'

"Child," Yoren said with a sigh. "There is nothing we can do for her. She is hostage to your father's word."

"We could rescue her."

"We would die. Most likely she would, too. You want that?"

"No."

"Good. Now they'll be searching for a nice high born lady…"

"I'm not a lady!"

"No?" Yoren had to laugh and she scowled at him. "No you certainly don't look it. Which is good. Except for the hair. You'll be traveling with men which will turn you over for a copper and their freedom if they know who you are." He pushed her against a wall. "Here, we have to take care of your hair."

"What?"

Yoren pulled out a dagger. "You're near enough a boy no one will know but the hair has got to go."

She struggled and tried to kick him but he hacked and cut and soon enough he had cut enough of it that she looked more like a boy. "That'll do till you get out of the city."

She felt her head. "I hate it! It's all lumpy!"

"Matters not to me, long as no one knows who you are. And when you takes a piss you do it in the woods. Come on. I suppose they're bringing your father to the Mud Gate and we got a long road to travel. When you gets there you are not to talk to him nor show any sign you recognize him, or anything till we are far from the city at least. You're Arry the orphan boy from now on."

"That's a stupid name. It's not even a real boy's name."

"'Tis too. I had a cousin named Arry."

"I think you mean Harry."

Yoren scowled at her. She had a mouth, that was for sure, and wasn't afraid to talk back. "No, I mean Arry. It's your name now. Arry."

"Okay. I'm Arry." He heard her grumble about it being a stupid name as they walked out of the ally and into the city.

She said nothing for a while as they walked through the crowded streets. They heard more than one person grumble that they let the traitor Stark go.

"He's not a traitor," Arya mumbled. " Why did he confess?"

"Cause they got your sister, I told you already."

"She's stupid for getting caught."

Yoren knew the real truth, but held his tongue. "She's not tough like you, is that it?"

"I would have killed them all."

Yoren snorted. "Holding a sword and playing with it is not the same as killing a man."

"I was taking lessons, I wasn't playing. My sword is called Needle."

"That so? I'll let you keep your Needle but see you don't stick no one with it. We're traveling with a rough bunch, so mind yourself around them."

Soon they came to the Mud Gate. Yoren told Arya to wait over there where Lommy, Hot Pie, and Gendry were standing near the donkeys. She had no sooner turned around and walked over there when a wagon and many men on horses rode up. Two Lannister men dragged Eddard Stark out of the back of the wagon. "Here's the scum," said one. He handed Yoren a sealed scroll. "That's for his son, if you find him. He runs away or joins his son, it's your head. And his daughter's."

"Aye," said Yoren. "I'll see he makes it to the Wall." With that the Lannister men and the wagon left.

"My lord," Yoren said as he helped Ned Stark stand steady. Blood still flowed a bit from a wound on his forehead. Yoren sat him in the back of one of his wagons. Yoren washed the wound with wine. He then gave him the skin to drink. "My daughter?" Stark gasped after he had drunk deeply.

"Over there," said Yoren and nodded towards the donkeys.

Stark drank some more and peered. "Where?"

"The short one with the bad haircut and the sword. Boy named Arry."

"Arry? Right. Good idea, that haircut. Many thanks for helping her...him." Stark squinted again, and Yoren knew his eyes were having trouble in the daylight after so long in the dark cell. "That big lad, the one with the helmet. What's his name?"

"Gendry. Said he knows you."

"Aye. Call him over."

Yoren turned and yelled. "Gendry! Over here!"

Gendry came over and dipped his head. "My lord."

"I'm no lord anymore," Stark told him. "Just a black brother like you once we take our oaths. I need a favor, lad."

"Anything," Gendry said right away.

"You see that little boy with the sword?"

"Yes," Gendry told him after a quick look.

"Can you keep an eye on him?"

"Yes. Why…my lord."

"Because I asked. I'd be eternally grateful."

"I can do that, my lord."

"You have my thanks. And I told you I am no lord."

Gendry screwed up his face. "Right. But it's maybe better if we call you lord still."

"Boy makes sense," said Yoren. "Men will listen to a lord."

"You're in charge," Stark told him. "I'm not. Just get us out of here, before they change their minds about letting me keep my head."

"As my lord commands," Yoren said with a smirk and Stark just sighed and leaned back in the wagon on a bale of cloth. Yoren saw him look over at his daughter and she was staring at him. Stark gave a slight shake of his head and the girl nodded once. Then the fat boy Hot Pie spun her around and he and Lommy were shouting something at her. She pulled her sword and waved it at Hot Pie's face and his eyes got big and he backed off. Then Gendry was there, waving his fist in Hot Pie's face and soon the fat boy and Lommy took off toward the front of the column. Gendry stood there talking to Arya, looking at her sword.

Yoren looked at Stark who had a smile on his face. "She...he... might not need a bodyguard after all."

Yoren walked over to them. "What was that all about?"

"Nothing," said Arya right away, putting her sword back in her belt.

"He wanted his sword," Gendry told Yoren.

"I want no fighting."

Gendry smiled. "He knows better now."

"Good. You two get on a couple of those donkeys. You can ride, can't you?"

"I can," said Arya. "I've been riding many…once."

"Never," Gendry told him. "But I'll try."

"I'll show you how," Arya told him and they walked over to where the donkeys were.

Yoren marched back and climbed on the first wagon in the column, the one with Stark in the back and yelled to the column. "It's a thousand leagues to the Wall and winter is coming! Let's move!"

With that he gave a sharp command to the driver of his wagon and then sat down as they approached the Mud Gate. The gate was open for the daily traffic and soon they were through with no fuss at all. Yoren sat in the back with Ned Stark. Stark took a long drink from the skin of wine he had and handed it back to Yoren, who also took a drink. Stark was looking back at the column. Yoren thought he was looking for his daughter but then he pointed to the cage with the three from the black cells.

"What did they do?"

"Rapists and murderers," Yoren told him. "They'll try to escape first chance they get."

"Aye. Best you arm some of the more trustworthy ones," Stark told him. "There's reports of fighting in the Riverlands also. Least there was before I was arrested."

"I've heard it's still going on," Yoren said. "Men of the Night's Watch take no part in the realm's disputes."

"That's true, but outlaws won't care what color you wear if you got horses and food."

"Aye," Yoren said and he spat over the side. "We best post guards tonight and arm the men."

"Maybe we should take a ship?" Stark suggested.

Yoren had had the same thought but he hated ships. "Don't do so well on ships. Bad stomach. I'm also to find your son's army and bring them you and this scroll. Any idea what's on it?"

Stark shrugged. "No idea. Perhaps it's their terms to restore peace. What word of my son?"

"Some say he is south of the Twins now."

"Did the Freys join him?"

"Don't know."

"Old Walder Frey, the Late Walder Frey, Robert called him," Stark said, seeming to reminisce. "Late for the Trident, late to King's Landing. Hardly a Frey died or even got a scratch in Robert's Rebellion. Then he had the nerve to feel slighted when Robert gave him no rewards or no new lands after it was all over."

Yoren spat. "He's a tight-fisted old man who hates all. He always let me cross his bridge but begrudged me room and board for my charges. Made us sleep outdoors, even in the rain, and not a crust of bread or a drop of ale or wine he let slip out of his tight fists."

"He has to feed his brood."

"There's enough of them to make an army by themselves," Yoren said with a laugh.

Stark's face grew cloudy. "My son's army is facing Tywin Lannister and the Kingslayer. They have a bigger army."

"I'd bet a purse of gold that one northman can take ten Lannisters any day."

"Maybe. But Robb's just a boy." Stark sounded like a worried father and well he should be, Yoren thought. Despite his boast he knew the Lannisters were trouble. Tywin Lannister had a reputation as the best field commander in the Seven Kingdoms. While Robert Baratheon had had endless strength and courage, Tywin Lannister had cunning and gold, and not all battles were won with strength and courage.

"Some boys have to grow up fast," Yoren said. "I was his age when I went to the Wall."

Stark looked at him. "Did you volunteer?"

Yoren laughed. "All black brothers volunteer. I killed a man if that's what you want to know. He killed my brother so I killed him. Justice was done but the law says I was still a murderer so they said take the black or hang from a rope."

"The law is not always fair."

"No," said Yoren as the wagon rocked under them. They were now passing beside the outer walls of Kings Landing, circling to the north and making for the Kingsroad. Yoren looked at Stark. "I question all men who join the Night's Watch. You're the highest born man I ever recruited, but I still have to ask. I would have some truth from you about what happened back there, Lord Stark. Why did you try to take the throne?"

Stark looked at him for a long moment. "I swore to keep silent about it. I will tell you all, when we reach the Wall."

Yoren did not like this, but he knew Stark was a man of his word, so he nodded. "I hope it is a worthy tale."

"Aye," said Stark with grim look to his face. "One they will be telling long after we pass. But it's not over yet."


	3. Chapter 3 Tyrion

**Ned Stark Lives! Chapter 3 Tyrion**

Tyrion Lannister had known pain in his life but none so much as that which now coursed through his right elbow. The wound was courtesy of a Stark knight he had fought in the battle of the Green Fork that had ended just a few hours ago. Through sheer blind luck Tyrion had managed to kill the knight's horse, toppling it on top of the knight, who had then yielded. It was the knight's bad luck to pick a dwarf for a target, especially a dwarf with a spiked helm. Said spike was driven up through the horse's chest as Tyrion had awkwardly risen from the ground. If he had been any taller or any less clumsy in his armor, he most likely would have missed the horse's chest and now he would be dead or a prisoner of the Starks. Or maybe not. His father's army had won the battle, but the main Stark force was not here, and the main weight of the Lannister host had only swatted a small contingent lead by Roose Bolton, the Lord of the Dreadfort. The survivors had now scampered back whence they came. The trouble was no one knew where young Robb Stark and his main host were located.

Tyrion shook his head at the folly of it all. What had begun with Brandon Stark's fall from a stone keep in Winterfell had in subsequent steps led to a footpad trying to kill the crippled boy in his bed, which had caused his mother to somehow accuse Tyrion of arming the footpad, which led her to take him captive to her mad sister's enclave in the Vale. Tyrion for sure thought he was going to die, confined to the sky cells of the Eyrie, then put on trial. But the sellsword Bronn had come to his rescue and they had befriended the mountain men of the Vale, who had fought with such fury in the recent battle. Somehow, someway he was going to find out why Catelyn Stark thought he had tried to kill her son. Someone in King's Landing was telling tales about a certain dagger. And Tyrion had a good idea who that someone was.

But that did not concern Tyrion for the moment, as his wounded elbow once more throbbed with pain. He sat in a chair in his tent as a maester inspected the bloody wound with his fingers and a metal probe. The probe entered one of the cuts the Stark knight's morning star had made after punching through the thin armor at the elbow joint. Tyrion winched in pain and gave the maester a sharp look and then softened his gaze, as he knew the man was only doing his job.

"Will I live?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"It is not broken and no metal or cloth appears to have entered the wound, my lord," said the maester. "Boiled wine and a poultice of moldy bread, mustard seed, and nettles should take care of any possible mortification."

"If you must," Tyrion told him as he picked up a cup of wine from a nearby table and took a drink. "Make sure it is Arbor gold you boil. My elbow has delicate tastes." The maester gave him a bewildered look. "A jest," Tyrion said, almost rolling his eyes at this man's lack of humor. Well, I suppose after cutting off limbs all day and stitching sword and arrow wounds he was in no jesting mood. The maester's robes were splattered with blood. "Use whatever sour grapes are available."

The maester left to get what he needed, and then Bronn entered the tent. Without so much as a word the black haired sellsword poured himself a cup of wine from a jug on the table and drank deeply. He was dirty and blood splattered his leather armor and hands.

"You know, I thought we had a deal, Bronn," Tyrion addressed him. "You protect me and I keep your purse full, your bed warmed by wenches, and all the good food and wine you could desire."

"That we did," Bronn said as he poured more wine into his cup. At least he had the decency to bring the jug over to refill Tyrion's cup. "But you never said anything about charging off and challenging knights."

Tyrion drank as Bronn placed the jug on the table. "I had a fit of madness. The point is, where were you? I almost died."

Bronn flopped down in an empty camp chair and stretched his long legs out before him. "You didn't."

Tyrion sighed heavily. "Where…"

"Killing and hacking my way through Stark men, trying to find you, which as you may remember I did right after your knight yielded," Bronn told him. "You know now that a battle is not some glorious story they write about in a book with pretty lines drawn on maps and men going here and there when you want. It's bloody chaos. Besides, you did all right on your own. You captured a knight."

Tyrion drank more. He wanted to be very drunk when it came time to pour boiling wine on his elbow. "And who did I capture?"

"Ser Geoff…something or other. A Barrowton cunt. Said his family would pay a hundred gold dragons for him."

"How splendid," Tyrion quipped. "Now I can retire."

"Your father may shit gold but I don't," Bronn countered. "If you don't want the ransom, I'll take it."

"Fine, do as you please with him."

Bronn shrugged. "He might die anyway. His leg is broken. Good thing you killed his horse so it could fall on him."

"It was not my intention."

"Don't matter how you kill them or knock them senseless long as they go down. Oh, well, if he dies maybe they'll pay a few coppers for his bones."

"Speaking of wounded and bones, how fair our wildlings?" Tyrion asked, having grown strangely fond of those mountain men who keep swearing to cut off his cock and feed it to the goats.

"We lost about half," Bronn replied after another deep drink. "The rest are still looting the Stark dead. Shagga took three arrows but none too deep. He'll live."

"Good. And where is Shae?" Tyrion was starting to worry one of his father's lords had decided to take back what Bronn had taken for Tyrion in the first place.

"With the rest of the whores and kitchen whelps in the rear."

Tyrion felt a touch of anger rise when Bronn called Shae a whore. He had only known Shae for a night but already he felt something for her. He didn't know why, but still the same it was there. "Would you be so kind as to fetch her? The battle is over and I have need of my bed warmer."

"It'll have to wait. We got orders to pack up and move," Bronn told Tyrion. "Your father gave the order ten minutes ago."

That surprised Tyrion. "And where are we going?"

"Robb Stark is marching on Riverrun, with most of his men. So the wind says."

Tyrion knew the implications of that. "If he reaches Riverrun before us, we'll be cut off from the west."

"I thought your great brother and his lot was in the way?"

"For now. But this news the wind brings may be many hours or even days old. Who knows what has happened since?" Tyrion was about to rise when the maester and a young lad came into the tent. The lad carried a metal kettle gingerly with gloved hands.

Bronn stood and peered in the open kettle top. "Boiling wine. You're in for some pain."

Tyrion grimaced and looked at the maester. "He always tells me how it is, no holding back, no matter how obvious."

The maester held out a small cup with a milky substance and after Tyrion placed his wine cup on the table next to his chair he took the offered cup. "The milk of the poppy, my lord," the maester told him. "A small sip or two will…do." Tyrion had drained the entire contents of the cup. In moments he felt light headed and then the room began to spin. He dropped the cup on the ground. "I never liked pain," he managed to say in a slurred voice. "Bronn, please make sure he doesn't cut off my arm. If he tries, kill him. I'd do it myself, but I think I shall be asleep." Then he passed out.

He awoke in a litter carried between four horses. How much time had passed, Tyrion did not know but it was still light outside, yet gloomy, nearing sunset. His elbow throbbed but at least he still had his arm. It was wrapped tight in linen and a sling was looped around his arm and over his neck. He sat up and pain shot through his elbow and his head. Too much wine or milk of the poppy. Perhaps both. He opened the curtains of the litter and he saw Bronn riding his horse next to his litter with the great bulk of Timett riding beside him. "Where are we?" he asked, his voice dry.

"Heading west," said Bronn. "As to where we are, and where we are going, your lord father has not told us."

"What news have you heard?"

"There's been riders, but no news came back to us."

"I need my horse. I need to see my father."

"Your horse is one of the ones carrying you," Bronn said. "It's too much fuss to bother with now. Wait till we halt for the night, which should be soon if we're not to fumble around in the dark trying to dig latrine ditches."

They rode for another half hour and then suddenly the column halted. Orders were shouted along the line for men to make camp, post sentries, dig ditches, and put up barriers of sharpened wooden stakes. The Lannister host fell to the task like an army of ants and soon tents were going up in farmer's fields, ditches were being dug and trees felled to make barriers to cover these ditches. Cook fires sprang up, and soon there was the sound of pigs, cows, and chickens being slaughtered for the evening meal.

Tyrion could not get on his horse because of his elbow so Timett picked him up and placed him on his horse. Then he rode forward with Bronn and Timett riding at his side. Everywhere there was activity as men hurried to prepare the camp before the light failed. Tyrion asked Lannister men where his father was and they kept pointing him west toward the setting sun. After a half hour search in the growing dark Tyrion found a roadside inn where a milling crowd was gathering. He knew this inn. The gods were not without a sense of justice. It was where Catelyn Stark had taken him prisoner, where he had first met Bronn. The woman who had owned it now hung from a gibbet, her dead body twisting in the light wind. The price you pay for letting a Lannister be captured in your establishment, though the woman had naught to do with it. Still, his lord father would want to send a message, and in the future he was sure innkeepers who heard the tale would fall over themselves to serve and protect any Lannister.

Most of the men outside the inn were from his father's headquarters group, guards and some high ranking knights and commanders, men Tyrion had known since he was a boy. As Timett picked him up again and helped him down from his horse he spotted his Uncle Kevan, who was never far from Lord Tywin.

"Wait here," Tyrion told Bronn and Timett as he handed the reins of his horse to Bronn.

"It's supper time," Bronn protested.

"I'll find you a roasted pig after. For now, wait," Tyrion said with a sharp look and Bronn grimaced and nodded.

Tyrion made his way through the crowd outside the inn and caught his uncle as he was about to enter.

"Dear Uncle, what news?"

"Tyrion," he said with grim look. "I see you have mended well."

"Was but a few scratches, nothing a little wine inside and outside couldn't cure. Tell me, what has been happening?"

"There is grave news. I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, Tyrion, but your brother Ser Jaime has been captured by Robb Stark's forces."

Nothing could have shocked Tyrion more. His brother Jaime was the finest swordsman in the Seven Kingdoms. Captured? It made no sense. "How?"

"An ambush in the Whispering Wood as far as we know. Some of the survivors who escaped reached us but an hour ago. Ser Jaime killed many but they overwhelmed him they said. But there is even graver news."

"Graver?" What could be worse than this?

"Robb Stark force marched his men from the Woods while we fought that small force on the Green Fork. Stark has smashed our forces besieging Riverrun. Two thirds have been routed or captured and the rest retired in good order, and are now trying to make their way west to our lands. The Starks and the Tullys now hold Riverrun and block our supply routes to the west."

"Disaster."

"Indeed. Come, your father has called a meeting. I think you should attend."

"Certainly."

The inside of the inn was as gloomy as Tyrion remembered. His father and ten of his high commanders sat at a long table, and the atmosphere was very tense. Tywin Lannister curtly nodded to his brother and then spared a glance for his youngest son as they sat down. The meeting opened with Kevan Lannister telling the assemblage the grave news Tyrion had just learned. Some already knew it, others didn't know it all, and all were surprised by the extent of the disaster. They rambled on for a while about what to do, and how to ransom his brother, and back and forth. The whole time Tywin said nothing but Tyrion could see his fury building until he finally exploded.

"They have my son!" His eyes glared at them all. "Get out, all of you," he said in a calmer tone.

"Not you," he said with a look to Tyrion. "Stay also, Kevan." Soon the room was empty except for the three Lannister men. Tyrion took a jug of wine from the table and filled an empty cup, all the while his father looked at him intently.

"Your wound is healing?" his father asked.

"Yes, so not to worry, no children will be chasing after and laughing at a one-armed dwarf in Lannisport anytime soon."

"If all you're good for is japes you can go back to your wildlings."

"I find japes comfort me when I feel distressed. Have the Starks made an offer of ransom for my brother?"

"No," said Kevan. "But we may have a chance to persuade them. Your sister holds Robb Stark's two sisters at King's Landing."

Tyrion scoffed. "He will never trade Jaime for two girls. His men would tear out his eyes and feed them to the crows."

His father nodded. "Maybe you are not such a big a fool as I thought. No, Robb Stark will not trade Jaime for his sisters. But perhaps he will if his father has anything to say about it."

"His father? What news of Ned Stark?" Tyrion asked. "Isn't he still in a cell in King's Landing?"

"He is coming north," said Tywin. "We've had word from your sister. Cersei gave him a choice to confess his treason publicly and take the black or watch his daughters die before he did. Needless to say, he confessed and took the black."

"A choice any parent would make," Kevan said, and Tyrion knew Kevan would since Kevan doted on his sons. But Tyrion was sure his father would not take the black to save his dwarf son's life. Maybe not even for Cersei or Jaime either.

"Ned Stark is coming this way with a party of Night's Watch recruits," Tywin continued. "But before they go to the Wall they are to find his son's army and Ned Stark is to order them to disband and go home."

"And why should Robb Stark do that?" Tyrion asked. "He's winning, if you hadn't noticed."

"I have," said his father coldly. "If the boy is smart he will not disband his forces. He will know that in a year, five years, ten years, whenever the Baratheon brothers are put down and this rebellion ends, he must know we will come north for him."

"It will be costly," added Kevan. "But we cannot allow this insolence to go unpunished."

"Indeed not," said Tywin.

"If he is smart," Tyrion said. "But his father's pleas about the safety of his sisters might just persuade him to end this war. Then we can marshal our forces to meet the threat of the Baratheon brothers."

"Quite so," said Tywin.

"Ned Stark comes north, but will he make it?" asked Kevan. "There is chaos on the road between Harrenhal and King's Landing. Ser Gregor and his men did battle with Beric Dondarrion's small force and there are other raiding parties about, some not so much in our control."

"What raiding parties?" Tyrion asked. How much did he not know about father's war plans?

"A free company from across the Narrow Sea," Kevan told him. "Led by Vargo Hoat. They call themselves the Brave Companions."

"Sellswords," said Tyrion with a sneer. "Not to be trusted."

His father stared at him. "You seem to put enough trust in that one that follows you everywhere."

"That's because Bronn is trustworthy," Tyrion shot back. "How can we assure Ned Stark's safety?"

"You will assure it," his father told him.

That took Tyrion aback. "Me? How?"

"You and your sellsword and wildlings plus a dozen knights and one hundred cavalry will march south at the dawn to Harrenhal and thence the Kingsroad. You will take Harrenhal from Lady Whent and…"

But Tyrion interrupted him and his father's eyes flashed with anger. "Take Harrenhal? With a few hundred men? Impossible."

His father stared at him hard. "Lady Whent has naught but a few retainers and servants and lives in only a small part of the castle. I am sure you can come up with a clever ruse to get her to open her gates. If so, leave a small garrison, and move on. If not, move directly on to the Kingsroad. Finding Ned Stark is the most important thing now. Keep him and his party well protected. Then bring him to Harrenhal."

"Why Harrenhal?"

"Because that's where we will be."

Even Kevan seemed surprised at this news. "But Tywin, that place is cursed."

"And where else are we to go, brother? We are weakened and outnumbered. Robb Stark controls the roads to the west. Roose Bolton is still on the Green Folk with his remnants, the Freys at the Twins are sworn bannermen to Riverrun, and the Baratheon brothers are to the south. The Vale is to the east and Lysa Arryn has no love for us. To make matters worse we have had word that Highgarden has risen for Renly and he has wed Margaery Tyrell."

"Now that is surprising news," commented Tyrion. "I didn't think Renly had it in him. A wedding of convenience, not love."

"I care not if he loves the girl, it is a wedding of inconvenience to us," said Tywin. "If my grandson is to stay longer than a month on the Iron Throne we must act. The first thing is to consolidate our forces at Harrenhal. From there we can strike in any direction at short notice. Ser Gregor and Ser Amory Lorch and their men will ride and forage and pillage. We will lay waste to the Riverlands and keep all the crops and herds for ourselves. The smallfolk will clog the roads to escape and their mouths clamoring for food and protection will be a burden to our enemies. Once Ned Stark persuades his son to march north, we will deal with Renly and Stannis."

"And Highgarden?" Kevan asked.

"They will bend the knee and be welcome back into the fold."

"But not Robb Stark?" Tyrion asked his father.

"His mother laid hands on you, his aunt tried to murder you, and he has Jaime. And his father tried to overthrow Joffrey. There will be no pardon for the Starks. One day we will let them know what it means to challenge this family. But that day is not today," said Tywin. There was a cold fury in his eyes that Tyrion knew meant his father would see House Stark destroyed before all this was over. Oddly, he felt happy inside, knowing his father went to war for him and would destroy his enemies. Perhaps one day they would sing a song called the 'Snows of Winterfell' to the tune of the 'Rains of Castermere'.

Tywin Lannister turned to his brother. "Kevan, we will rest here for one day, to allow stragglers from Jaime's forces and Riverrun to reach us. Then we march for Harrenhal. See to the preparations."

"At once," Kevan said and then rose and left them. As soon as he was gone Tywin took a cup of wine and drank. He looked at Tyrion. "There is one more thing. Your sister has commanded me to go to King's Landing to be Joffrey's Hand."

"Congratulations. May you fare better than the last two."

Tywin ignored the jape. "She commanded me," he scoffed. "Cersei has too high a sense of her own worth and forgets she is my daughter first and foremost."

"She is the Queen after all."

"Queen Regent."

"Ah, yes. I had forgotten. Her dear husband Robert is dead."

Tywin drank deeply and sat back in his chair. "I had no love for the man but Robert Baratheon was not made to sit on a throne. He was made for sitting on a horse and crushing men with his war hammer. His sloth and drunkenness did not become him. It is a shameful thing the way he died. Such a man should have died in battle."

"He did. With a boar."

Tywin was silent for a moment, staring at his son with his green gold-flecked eyes. "After this business with Ned Stark is finished you will ride to King's Landing and be Hand in my stead."

Of all the surprises and shocks of the last hour this one had to top them all. "Me? Hand of the King? Why not my Uncle Kevan? Or anyone else for that matter."

"Because you are my son. And it seems you have more than a drop of common sense, despite the company you keep and the barbs that come too oft from your tongue."

"And what am I to do in King's Landing? Cersei will sooner geld me than have me sit on the small council."

"You will have a letter under my seal to order her to accept you as acting Hand. She will do as I command, and so will that boy king. The rest as well. Deal with anyone as you wish and make sure the city is well-prepared for an attack."

"Deal with anyone as I wish? Including Varys, Baelish, and Pycelle?"

"Especially those three. I have been meaning to make inquires as to why Catelyn Stark seemed to think you wanted her son dead. And why Lysa Arryn believes you had something to do with the death of her husband. I have no doubt as to your innocence in these matters."

"At last someone knows the true me."

His father grimaced. "Someone has used you as a pawn in this game of thrones they like to play, to set House Stark against House Lannister. What is done is done. But I would know who started this business so I can see them hanged. I have a feeling a few rats in King's Landing may have said the wrong words in certain ears."

Tyrion grinned. "My thoughts exactly, father. I shall make my own inquires once I arrive."

"Inquire all you like. You have that power as Hand of the King. Start with Ned Stark when you find him. But in King's Landing do it quietly. Those rats have ears of their own, always listening." Tywin rose and started to leave the room. "Oh, and one more thing. Leave your whore behind when you go to King's Landing."

Tyrion said nothing, not surprised his father knew about Shae. After his father left he drained his cup of wine. Find Ned Stark, take Harrenhal, be the Hand of the King, find out who set me up, leave my whore behind. Well, father, I will do as you ask. For the most part.

Outside in the growing dark he found Bronn and Timett still waiting for him in the midst of the army still making preparations for night. "What news?" Bronn asked him as Timett helped Tyrion mount his horse. Bronn and Timett then both mounted as Tyrion spoke.

"We are to leave in the morning, take Harrenhal, find Ned Stark, protect him, bring him to my father, and then make for King's Landing, where I am to be the acting Hand of the King."

"Is that all?" asked Bronn. "Then we best have a good supper and get a good night's sleep."

"The Halfman Hand," said Timett with a laugh.

"Some day they will make a song of it," Tyrion replied with a grin. "Come my companions. Let us find our men and sup and drink and get some rest."

Tyrion found the roast pig he promised and sup and drink they did, but not much rest was to be had, at least not for Tyrion. Shae came to him in the darkness and rubbed his aches and rubbed his middle leg, and soon they were lost to the world as they made love over and over. Bronn was right. After a battle a man needed a woman. And quite a woman she was.

Afterwards they lay in his bed in his tent and drank some good wine from the Arbor. "I must go in the morning."

"Go where?"

"To do my father's bidding."

"And I am to come as well?"

"My father has forbidden it. The cunt."

She laughed. "And do you always do as your father commands?"

"No. And this time I mean not to again. But the first part will be dangerous. We might have to fight."

"I can kill a man as well as you can."

Tyrion laughed this time. "Of that I have no doubt. Yes, you can come, but must travel with the servants and food wagons."

She pouted. "But at night I come to your tent?"

"Most certainly," Tyrion told her as he kissed her lips and tasted her sweetness.

Dawn came too soon and Tyrion's head was fuzzy from lack of sleep and too much wine. He bid goodbye to Shae for the moment so she could go disguise herself and join the baggage tail that would come with his small force. He broke his fast with Bronn on bread, fish, eggs and ale.

"You look morose this morning Bronn," Tyrion observed.

"Ser Geoff died," the sellsword told him. "His broken leg couldn't handle the move yesterday. The maester said he was dead when we halted last night."

"You may still get a few coppers for his bones."

"Not worth the bother. A hundred gold dragons would have been, but not a few coppers."

"Don't expect me to give you the hundred gold dragons he promised."

"You owe me that much already. And more."

"If you forget to stay by my side in the next battle I'll never get to pay you."

Bronn laughed. "I'll stick with you so close you'll never be rid of the smell of me."

Tyrion wrinkled his nose. "Speaking of which, the first chance we get you are to take a bath. A long hot one."

"Aye," Bronn said and he sniffed. "And you don't smell like a rose either, you know."

"I would gladly take a bath if the facilities were available. Perhaps at Harrenhal."

Bronn's face turned grim. "Just how does your lord father expect us to take such a place?"

"He suggested a ruse," Tyrion told him. "Know any good ones?"

"Aye, but not for taking the biggest castle ever built."

Tyrion sipped some ale. "Lady Whent only has a few people in it, according to my father."

"They only need a few people with walls that high and thick."

"The castle is in ruins. We may find an unguarded door or someplace where the walls are not so high. A few ropes and grappling hooks in the night and…"

Bronn stood. "Right you are. I best see if we got any about."

"We move in half an hour."

"Don't wait for me." And then he left. Almost as soon as he was gone Tyrion's squire Podrick Payne entered the tent and began to clear away the breakfast dishes.

"How fairs things, Pod?"

"My lord?" the boy asked in a nervous tone

Tyrion sighed. "How are you?"

"Good, my lord."

The boy was all nerves and hardly said a word unless spoken to. Dreadfully dull as far as Tyrion was concerned.

"We shall be riding far today and the next few days," he told Pod. "Make sure my tent and furnishings are well packed. But first we must dress me."

"Your armor is still with the smith being repaired, my lord."

"I think not to wear it anyways, not with this elbow. But make sure it comes with us, repaired or not," Tyrion said. "Just the mail shirt today and attach my half helm to my horse, along with my axe." He unslung his elbow and straightened his right arm gingerly as Pod helped him pull his chain mail shirt over his head. It was a bit too long and came past his knees but it would have to do for now.

Outside in the predawn gloom his men were breaking camp and getting ready. He saw Shagga looking pale under his scruffy beard but determined to get on a horse and not be left behind despite his wounds. Soon there came a column of dust along the road leading west and a long trail of cavalrymen on horse and carrying lances came galloping up to Tyrion's small camp.

"Lord Tyrion!" shouted the man on the lead horse. Pod took his bridle as the man climbed down and gave a short bow. "I have the honor to be Ser Jason Matigar, leader of your cavalry force." He was in his late twenties maybe, blond haired, and very tall, towering over Tyrion.

"Welcome, Ser Jason. How many men did you bring?'

"Eighty and five, plus ten knights, including myself."

Less than his father had promised but it would do. "We ride as soon as my force is ready and our baggage is packed. What do you know about our orders?'

"Your lord father said I was to protect your group and help you take Harrenhal if possible."

"Yes, if possible. He said nothing else?"

"Only that I was to go to King's Landing with you when you gave the command."

Nothing about Ned Stark. His father was keeping that news close and so would Tyrion. "We may encounter bandits and outlaws led by Beric Dondarrion on the road to Harrenhal. You will provide outriders and scouts to make sure we are not surprised."

"Yes, my lord," Ser Jason replied and then he looked at the wildlings mounting their mountain ponies, attired in their rough clothing and carrying the best Lannister weapons. "Are these men with us?" he asked in evident surprise.

"Yes, they are," said Tyrion. "I'd introduce you but there is no time. But please advise your men not to make any jests or play dice with them when we make camp. They take jests to heart and are easily offended. And they cheat at dice but will say you cheated and promise to cut your manhood off and feed it to the goats if you don't pay them."

Ser Jason sneered. "Such men are not worthy soldiers."

"They are not soldiers," Tyrion said. "They are my wild men and I am fond of them."

"Perhaps it best if we have two camps when we stop for the night, my lord."

"More than two. One for us and one for each tribe of wild men. They will insist on it since they prefer only the company of their own tribe in camp. But when drunk they will wander so please advise your men as to what I said."

"It will be difficult to set a guard at night if we are spread out so much," Ser Jason observed.

"You worry only about me and our camp and the baggage train. The wild men will look after themselves."

"As you command, my lord."

Just then a rider came up at a hard gallop. He handed Tyrion a sealed parchment. "From Lord Tywin," said the messenger and then he galloped away. The scroll had Cersei's name on the outside and was sealed in gold wax with his father's sigil stamped in the gold wax. Tyrion knew this was his writ to be Hand of the King and carefully tucked the scroll in one of his saddlebags on his horse.

A half an hour later all was ready and even Bronn had returned with some ropes and grappling hooks he loaded on one of the wagons that carried their food, tents and servants. Tyrion made a show of inspecting the ten wagons at the rear, placing ten of Ser Jason's men as guards. He spied Shae sitting in a wagon and gave her a slight nod as he rode past on his horse.

Then he rode to the front of the column with Bronn, Timett and Ser Jason at his side and Pod not far behind. After introductions the four men talked on how to make it to Harrenhal. They decided to follow the road east back from whence they had come the day before and then south directly towards Harrenhal. There were few roads, but the land was mostly flat, with some hills the closer they would get to the ruins of the great castle. As they set out the rest of the Lannister camp was stirring but few men saw them leave. After a ten minute ride they reached the outer edges of the camp and the sentries let them pass by the last barricades.

Tyrion had Ser Jason send out outriders and scouts and then fell into a rhythm of riding alone with Bronn, with Pod not far behind on his palfrey.

"What should I say to Ned Stark when we meet?" Tyrion asked Bronn after a long silence.

"How should I know?" Bronn answered in his insolent way. "You're the one with a life of experience kissing high lords' asses."

"The trouble is when you are a son of Casterly Rock most people kiss your ass, even if it sits as low to the ground as mine does. Ned Stark is a different kettle of fish. He is a Stark of Winterfell who can trace his linage back over thousands of years to Bran the Builder if you believe the legends."

"He's no lord no more if he's branded a traitor and has decided to take the black."

"True enough," Tyrion said. "I met him once, briefly, at Winterfell, just before all this madness started. He seemed a genial fellow, if a bit stern, and he was a good host, but he has no love for me. His wife thinks I tried to kill their son and I am sure Lord Eddard has the same idea."

"Did you?"

"Did I what?"

"Try to kill their son?" Bronn asked calmly as if he had asked how he had slept.

"Of course not!" Tyrion said in real outrage. "Why would I want to kill a boy?"

"Then if not you, why would someone else?"

"I have no idea. But what really interests me is who put the idea in Lord and Lady Stark's minds that I had something to do with it."

"She wasn't telling. Why would he?"

"I never had a chance to make her see sense. I will make him see it though."

Bronn snorted. "If we find him. Lot of land between here and King's Landing. They could be anywhere."

"Oh, we'll find Ned Stark," said Tyrion with certainty. "We must. Father was right. He is the key to everything, not to just solving this mystery. The key to freeing my brother, to sending Robb Stark's army home, to bring peace to this land."

"Some of these lads behind us might just die trying to find him and bring this peace."

"Then the gods and the smallfolk will thank them when this is over and peace is restored," Tyrion said.

His father never said but Tyrion wondered if they would really let Ned Stark make it to the Wall alive, when he was planning on someday killing his son and destroying his family. Could the honorable Ned Stark stick by his oath and stay out of it while his family was destroyed. Tyrion thought not.

But that was for the future. Now he just had to find the man. Where are you Ned Stark?


	4. Chapter 4 Eddard

**Ned Stark Lives! Chapter 4 Eddard**

Ned Stark sat under a tree with his back resting on its trunk and his broken leg propped up with a sack of oats under it. The leg throbbed a bit but was nowhere near as painful as it had first been when his horse had fallen under him in the street in King's Landing the night Jaime Lannister had tried to kill him. He was sitting near a fire and Yoren was heating some sausages on a stick over it. Nearby the rest of their party was also making small fires and setting to cooking their supper, some roasting sausages, others roasting potatoes, all eating bread with some cheese. Some of the new recruits for the Night's Watch stood over by their wagons, horses, and donkeys, feeding and watering the animals and keeping an eye on the nearby Kingsroad. Yoren had armed most of the men and boys, giving them the few swords, daggers, maces, and bows and arrows he had in the wagons. The others had made makeshift clubs from tree branches. They seemed like a trustworthy lot for a bunch of criminals, Ned thought.

All but the three in the cage, that is, who were not even allowed out to piss and had to do so through the bars of their cage. At least Yoren had given them a bucket to shit in. The one called Rorge cursed everyone who came near the cage. The one called Biter hissed and snarled but said nothing. And the third one that Yoren said was a foreigner named Jaqen H'ghar was polite but had a look of danger about him. Yoren said he was a murderer and Ned believed it without a doubt.

In the fading light he saw his daughter Arya with Gendry and the other two boys, the ones called Lommy Greenhands and Hot Pie, sitting around a fire roasting sausages and potatoes on sticks. The two who had given her trouble the first day now seemed friendly enough. After three days on the road the four, being the youngest, had fallen into a little gang together. Ned had no chance to talk to Arya yet, and did not dare risk it in this group. Many of the recruits eyed him warily at first. A few knew who he was and what he had done so soon the rest knew. But he heard some whispering and they didn't know if he was a lord or a traitor or a common criminal like them. The second day Yoren loudly called him 'Lord Stark' when they halted for a piss break and to fill their water bottles and pots from a stream. Soon the rest took to calling him Lord Stark, and dipped their heads politely when he passed by.

But he hadn't a chance to talk to Arya yet. The first night she tried to come over to their fire but Yoren had spotted her and stood and told her to get back with the others in a low hiss, saying they were too close to King's Landing and for her to wait a few days like he said. He apologized to Ned after but Ned agreed with him. Yet having her so close after so long without talking to her made him ache inside. She was family, she was home, and he knew she wanted to run into his arms like she did when she was little and he had come home after being away. But she was not little anymore, and terrible things had happened to their family and so she had to hide as a boy. And she understood that and kept her distance from him after that first night.

That was three days ago. He had Yoren for company, which was not so bad, seeing as the Night's Watch man was full of good humor and stories and always had a skin of wine at night. The rest of the recruits drank water or beer out of a big keg in the back of one of the wagons. Arya looked over at Ned the first time she had a mug of beer, as if to ask if it was all right, and he shrugged slightly. She grinned a bit and drank, then made a sour face and almost spit it up, but the other boys were drinking so she stuck to it and finished her mug.

"Here you go," Yoren said as he handed Ned a crisp sausage on a stick. Ned took a slab of bread and placed the sausage on it and was soon munching away, the sausage grease dripping on his clothing. He didn't care. His clothes were filthy and he smelled like a riverfront whorehouse. He needed a bath. They all needed a bath. Arya's hair was greasy and her face was streaked with dirt and the clothes she wore needed a good wash. If her mother could see her now she'd throw a fit.

Thinking of Cat made Ned morose. She was out there somewhere, in the Vale or back in Winterfell, he did not know. If she was smart she'd head straight for White Harbor and home. Brandon and Rickon needed her now more than ever, with everyone else gone. Especially Brandon. It was his own fault. He should have told Robert no when he asked him to be the Hand. And when Bran got hurt he had a real reason not to go. Robert would have ranted and raved but he would have understood. But he could never refuse Robert, especially not then, not when Jon Arryn was dead and he was surrounded by Lannisters. And now Robert was dead, too. Almost all his people he took to King's Landing were dead, and his eldest daughter was prisoner of his enemies. Why had the gods been so cruel as to bring his family to this state? What had he done to offend them so much?

But deep down Eddard Stark knew what he had done. He had made a promise to someone he loved and he had kept that promise, even if it meant he had to sully his own reputation, cast doubt on his honor, and cause another person he loved unspeakable pain. Such was the price one paid when there were too many oaths taken, too many promises made, and too many people who could be hurt by the wrong word in the wrong ear. And now he was reaping the harvest he had sown as the gods came calling for their payment for keeping his secret for so many years. He just hoped not everyone in his family would pay the ultimate price.

After he ate, and drank a bit more wine, Ned watched his daughter move away from her little group and start heading for the thicker woods that were about fifty yards from their little camp under the trees near the Kingsroad. As she walked past him she looked at him steadily and flicked her eyes towards the woods. Ned waited for ten minutes then told Yoren quietly what he was doing. Yoren nodded his assent, and Ned got up, using a stick for a crutch. He hobbled off in the direction Arya went and soon found her leaning against a tree. With watery eyes and a sob his daughter rushed into his arms and he hugged her tight, never wanting to let go again.

"Oh, sweet child," he said in soothing tones as he held her. "Don't cry. I'm here now."

She started talking in a rush, going on about what had happened that dreadful day, how Syrio had protected her and how she thought he was now dead, and then, then…

"I came to the stables. They were all dead," Arya said with another sob. "I found Needle, and…and…a boy tried to take me, to hurt me, so…I…I had Needle in my hand…and…"

But she cast her eyes down and couldn't say it and for a second he didn't understand. Then it came to him in a sudden dreadful realization. So he said it for her, not wanting to, not wanting it to be true, but knowing it must be done, for her sake, so she would not dwell on it forever. "You stuck him with the pointy end."

She nodded slightly. "I didn't mean to. He grabbed my arm and then it was too late."

"It's not your fault. You did what you had to do. If you hadn't they would have you now too. Don't you ever forget it's not your fault."

"It's their fault," she said with fire in her eyes. "The Queen, and Joffrey, and the Hound, all of them! I hate them all!"

"You're not alone in that hate," he said in a grim tone

"We have to go back and save Sansa! They're going to make her marry that monster!"

Ned held her tight. "Sweet girl, if we try to save your sister they would kill her and us, too. We need time, time to think, time to find friends, and make a plan and then I promise you I will do everything in my power to make them pay and bring your sister home to Winterfell."

"You promise?"

"I swear it by all the old gods and the new."

"But…your oath…to take the black. I heard you say it on the steps of the Sept of Baelor. You swore by the old gods and the new that Joffrey was the rightful king and that you would take the black."

"Arya, Joffrey is not the rightful king. And any oath made with a sword at you or your loved one's throats is not one the gods will hold you to."

She smiled and he hugged her tight. "Then…who is the rightful king?" Arya asked.

"Stannis Baratheon, King Robert's brother."

"Not Tommen?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Some day I will explain it all to you. Do you trust me?"

"Yes."

"Good girl." After a moment he parted from her but kept his free arm around her shoulders. "We have to go back now," he told her. "Don't say a word of this to anyone." Arya nodded. "And make sure you stay a boy in front of the others." As they turned to go back they heard a movement and then Gendry was standing there.

"My lord?" Gendry said in puzzlement, staring at them.

Ned realized he still had his arm around Arya's shoulder. He awkwardly removed it and was about to explain when Arya shouted at the boy.

"What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you," Gendry explained, taken aback by her shout.

"Why? I was just taking a piss." Ned almost laughed and he was sure her mother would clout the two of them behind the ear if she had heard Arya talking like that and him standing there doing nothing.

"Cause he said to look out for you," Gendry explained to her, casting his eyes at Ned.

Her face screwed up in anger, "I don't need looking out for," she told him and her father at same time in a defiant tone.

"Yes, you do," Gendry and Ned said at the same time and then they both grinned.

"No, I don't!" Arya said in a huff as she stalked off toward the camp, her hand on Needle at her waist.

Gendry was staring at Ned. "Look, lad, the boy…"

"Isn't a boy," Gendry finished for him.

Ned paused and then nodded. "Aye. How do you know?"

"Arry always pisses in the woods where no one can see. No one else does that. And she doesn't look like a boy. Not really. Not up close. Actually, she looks a bit like you, my lord."

Ned sighed, and decided to just tell him. "She's my daughter, Arya."

"Arya? The one they were looking for?"

Ned frowned. "What do you mean?"

"The morning we left a man was in our shop, talking to Master Mott. I heard him say the Spider was offering money for news about Arya Stark."

Varys, the Spider, playing his part for the Queen and King no doubt. "Is that so? How much money?"

"Don't know. I didn't hear. Not my business anyways."

"Smart lad. About Arya…"

"I won't say anything to the others."

Ned grinned. "I know you won't."

"Yoren…"

"Yoren already knows. Let's get back."

Ned starting walking back to the camp and Gendry followed. Just before they reached the edge of the woods Gendry stopped. "Can I ask you something, my lord?"

Ned paused, turned and looked at him. "I know what you want to know. Why did Jon Arryn and I come and talk to you."

Gendry nodded. Ned stood for a long moment debating on what to tell him. Finally, he decided the boy had a right to know. It didn't matter anyways, not where they were supposed to be going. And only the gods knew what would happen to them all. He needed to know.

"Gendry, did you know your father?"

"No. I'm a bastard."

"Don't call yourself that, lad."

"It's true."

"Aye, it may be true but enough people in the world will call you it without you doing it too."

"I understand. But…you were asking about my father?"

"Your mother never told you who he was?"

"No." Then Gendry suddenly understood. "You…you know who my father is?"

"Aye."

"Who?"

Ned hesitated and then just said the name. "King Robert Baratheon."

Gendry just stood there for a long moment, his eyes wide, face turning pale. He shook his head. "No, that isn't right. That can't be."

"Did you ever lay eyes on him?"

"Once or twice. From afar."

"I knew him for more than twenty years. You're his spitting image. You look just like he did at fifteen."

Gendry was in shock, his eyes staring off into the growing darkness. Ned let him be for a bit, then he looked straight at Ned. "Did he tell you I was his son?"

"No…but Jon Arryn figured it out. And your Master Mott said someone paid double your apprentice fee when you first came to him. And Varys, the Spider, told me he was the one who paid it, after Robert told him to look after you after your mother died."

Gendry sniffed, and his eyes watered, but he held control of his emotions. "All those years, he never once came to see me, never did anything, never said I was his."

"He couldn't, lad. Especially not in King's Landing, where anyone who wanted to hurt him had eyes and ears everywhere. You understand?"

Gendry nodded and then he got a surprised look on his face. "Then the new King is my brother?"

Ned took a deep breath. "Not by any laws of the kingdoms." It was the truth, but not the whole truth.

"I didn't think so," Gendry said downhearted. Most bastards were told the law when they grew older. They had no rights, not to inherit or take any titles. Ned had had such a painful conversation with Jon Snow when he was just a small boy. Jon had been brave, fighting back his tears, and Ned had wanted to tell him so much more, but couldn't.

"Are there more like me?" Gendry asked him.

Again Ned paused. "Aye."

"How many bastards did the king have?"

"I don't know. You have an older sister in the Vale named Mya and a younger brother at Storm's End named Edric. Those two I know about for sure. And maybe a baby sister in King's Landing."

"Did he fuck every woman he ever met?" Gendry said in anger and Ned allowed him that cause it was so true of Robert.

"Not all men are strong when it comes to women, lad."

Gendry said nothing but leaned against a tree and then slid down and sat on the ground. "Come on, lad. Let's get back," Ned said gently.

"Leave me be for a while. I need to think."

"I guess you do. I'm sorry to be to one to tell you this."

"At least you're honest."

"Aye," Ned replied. "Don't stay out here long. It will get cold."

Ned turned to leave when Gendry asked him a question which stopped him cold. "Is that why Jon Arryn died? Is that why you got into trouble? Because of asking questions about me?"

Ned turned back. "There's much more to the story than just you. But I can't tell, not yet. Some day maybe I will."

Gendry said nothing but stared off into the forest so Ned let him be as he wished. He walked on his unsteady legs back to their small camp. Arya was standing by her fire, looking over towards him, a questioning look on her face, and he knew she was wondering what he and Gendry had been up to but he dare not approach her. He was just about near the tree where he and Yoren had their small fire when one of the recruits approached him. "Lord Stark, Yoren needs you down by the Kingsroad."

Ned followed him as best he could. The light was almost gone and in the gloom he could see Yoren with three other recruits talking to a man on a wagon pulled by an ox. In the back of the wagon there was a woman and three small children and what looked like everything the family owned.

"Lord Stark," Yoren said as Ned approached. "This man has news of fighting up north."

Ned looked at the man, who was maybe in his thirties, with brown hair and a thick beard. "I'm Lord Eddard Stark. What news have your heard, Goodman?"

"Lord Stark?" said the man in surprise and then he dipped his head and climbed down from his wagon. "There's fighting up north, all right," he told Ned. "Are you really Lord Stark from Winterfell?"

"Aye."

"Then it's your son that's fighting, folks are saying. Him against the Lannisters."

Ned took a deep breath. "Where?"

"Some folks said up by the Trident. Others say Green Fork, maybe Blue Fork. Others say Riverrun. We heard it a day past at a roadside inn. But each man told it different, my lord."

"Who won the fight?" Yoren asked the man.

"Starks did, most agree," the man said. "Sent the Lannisters running back west."

For a moment Ned felt a surge of pride for his son but then tempered his feelings. This was just a rumor, and he would not let rumors cloud his judgment. "Aye, that's good news. But I bet they didn't run far."

The man shrugged. "I'm just saying what others said, my lord."

"No offense meant, Goodman. We are grateful for your news," Ned said quickly. "And we'd appreciate more of it. What news of Beric Dondarrion or Gregor Clegane?"

"Dondarrion. He's the one they call the Lightning Lord. Clegane? Don't know that name," the man said in puzzlement.

"They call him the Mountain," Yoren told him.

The man nodded. "Aye, a right bastard that one is. More than one person we met on the road said beware of him and his followers. A sellsword at the inn said the Mountain's men killed the Lightning Lord at the Mummer's Ford more than a fortnight past."

"That's grievous news if true," Ned replied. "What of his men?" Many of those had been from his own household.

"Didn't hear, my lord," the man told him. "But we left our farm near the God's Eye six days past and we were lucky to get away. There's more than one group of outlaws up the road. And they are killing and taking what they want."

"Thank you for your news, Goodman," Ned replied. "You and yours are welcome to stay under the trees with us for the night."

"Thank you, my lord, but we will keep going. The wife and young ones can sleep in the back. The closer we get to King's Landing the safer I'll feel."

"May the gods look after you," Ned told him and the man said the same, dipped his head once more and then climbed up on his wagon and was soon gone.

Yoren sent the three recruits off to get their supper while he and Ned stood by the King's Road as darkness came. They stood there an hour and more and more people kept coming, moving in the dark, the skies clouding over and giving no moon or starlight. They questioned a few more people and more or less got the same story plus many wild rumors. All were heading to King's Landing. A few stopped and made camp for the night on the other side of the road, but most moved on.

Yoren set guards for the night, and then he and Ned retired to their tree. A light rain began to fall and soon grew heavier and then everyone scrambled to get under better cover, many under the wagons.

Yoren stood and let the rain hit him. "Best way to stay clean," he said with a laugh.

Ned stood with him in the downpour and felt invigorated by the water flowing through his hair and down his face. "If only I had a bar of soap."

"That inn the man was talking about," Yoren began. "It has a bathhouse. We'll stop there on the morrow and get the lice and filth of Kind's Landing out of us all."

"Not my daughter."

Yoren thought for a moment. "I can ask the innkeeper if she can have a private room and we can bring her a bucket and some soap."

Ned nodded. "We can try, but…" Then they heard someone walking and it was Gendry coming back to the camp from the woods. He passed by without a glance and then joined Arya and the other two boys as they tried to find room under a wagon out of the rain. "Aye, Gendry, the smith. He knows who she is now. He can watch the door for her while she bathes."

"Not my place to question you, my lord, but do you think it wise to tell the boy who she is?"

"He already figured it out she was a girl."

They soon sat back under their tree where the fire was sputtering under the rain. Yoren took a long drink of wine and offered the skin to Ned but he shook his head no.

"Speaking of the lad, I was meaning to ask you about Gendry," Yoren said.

"You can ask. I might not answer."

"Fair enough. Boy said you came to see him. You and Jon Arryn."

"Aye."

"I think I know why. He has the look of a certain someone."

"That he does." Ned said no more.

Yoren drank again. "Funny, him being a smith and all. Wielding a hammer."

Ned chuckled. "I had the same thought."

After a while the rain slacked off and the camp began to doze. Ned slept badly, his leg bothering him. During the night Yoren kept getting up to inspect the camp. It was his habit and then he would sleep most of the morning in the wagon as they moved north. He had had a horse when he came to King's Landing but in his haste to bring Ned news of what Catelyn had done his horse went lame and had to be put down. Ned would have to give him a new one when they got to Winterfell. Lannisters weren't the only ones who paid their debts. Yoren was a good man, and Ned was glad to have him as their leader.

When Yoren came back from one of his inspection trips Ned was awake, thinking on all that had happened to bring him to this point in his life. "What can you tell me about Tyrion Lannister?" Ned asked Yoren.

"The Imp?" Yoren said in surprise. "Don't know him well, my lord."

"You traveled with him from the Wall you said."

"Aye. He likes his drink and he has more than a few bawdy stories. He did your son a kindness by drawing that saddle for him." Ned had already heard the story about the Imp's saddle when Yoren had first come to King's Landing.

"Strange thing a man trying to help my son after trying to kill him."

"Aye. That it is."

"Do you think he did it?" Ned asked and the question lay heavy in the darkness between them.

Yoren sighed. "Your lady wife thought so. And she convinced those men at the inn enough to take him. But what made her think he done it is the question I'd like to know the answer to."

"The dagger the footpad tried to use to kill Bran. It belonged to the Imp."

"That so? And when would the Imp have had time to give him this dagger? He left Winterfell when you left. He was heading to the Wall when your son was attacked many days later."

All this Ned knew from Yoren's earlier report. "I think the bigger question is why would he want Bran dead," Ned asked and Yoren had no answer and they soon fell silent. Ned couldn't sleep, thinking on all this, and in his mind there grew an idea on what had really happened. Baelish had told them the dagger was the Imp's. Baelish, who had loved Cat for years. Baelish who had put a dagger at his throat the day he was arrested. What was Baelish really up to?

Ned slept little more and was up when the sun rose. Soon the camp was stirring and they broke their fast on bacon and flat cakes the baker's boy Hot Pie fried in the bacon grease in a flat pan over a fire. Everyone commented on how good they were. "They're best with a bit of honey or jam," Hot Pie told them as he flipped a cake in the pan.

"And bacon grease," Arya said with her mouth full, grinning. "What do you call them?"

"Just…cakes," answered Hot Pie with a shrug.

"They ain't cakes," said another recruit.

"We should call them hot cakes, after Hot Pie," Lommy Greenhands said with a laugh and soon everyone was calling them hot cakes.

Gendry was nearby chewing on his hot cake, looking like he had slept worse than Ned had, and for good reason. It's not every day you are told the dead king was your father. His hammer was at his waist and he had his bulls head helmet under his arm. Ned walked up to him.

"Morning, lad."

"Morning, my lord."

Ned was about to say more but Yoren came up to them. "Gendry, the hitch on the third wagon is loose. Can you fix it?"

Gendry took his hammer off his belt. "I can try." And then he went off with Yoren and soon came the sound of his hammer beating on metal.

Ned stood there with Arya not five feet away, mixed in with the others as Hot Pie kept cooking. Ned noticed some of the recruits looking at him. Finally, one got bold enough to talk to him. "We heard there's fighting up north, Lord Stark."

"Aye," answered Ned. "But they won't bother us. The Night's Watch takes no part in the realm's disputes."

"I was on the road last night with you, my lord," said another. "Is it true your son is fighting the Lannisters?"

Arya gasped and almost choked on her hot cake. Ned looked at her as he spoke to them. "Aye, it's true. Robb Stark is my son. He led my…his…bannermen down from the north and had a fight with the Lannisters. Rumor is he won, but that's all we know."

Arya looked at him and spoke, surprising Ned. "How is your son?...My lord."

He looked at her steadily. "I don't know, boy. There is no news of him."

One man spat on the ground. "That's for the Lannisters. May the Others take them." Many more voiced their agreement.

"There's trouble ahead on the road," Ned told them in a serious tone. "Might be we run into outlaws. We'll guard the wagons and protect ourselves. We stick together and we'll be fine, so no one take it in his head to run off. They'll just find you and kill you anyways. Better to die with steel in your hands and your enemy's blood on that steel."

"We ain't soldiers. Most of us don't know how to fight," said one older man.

Ned nodded. "Aye. Best we do something about that. I trained more than a few men to fight so I can give you some lessons. First one is…"

"Stick him with the pointy end," said Arya with a grin and everyone chuckled.

Ned beamed at her, unable to help himself. "Aye, right you are lad. But there's more to it than that. Just hope I have time to teach you."

He saw some of them looked worried so he needed to buck up their moral. "Most outlaws will shy away from a large group of armed men. They're looking for easy pickings. But if we meet any groups of soldiers, from any army, say nothing, do nothing. Let Yoren and me do the talking."

They all agreed and then Yoren and Gendry came back. "Time to get on the road. Let's move," Yoren ordered and soon they were getting ready to move out.

Rorge in the cage yelled at Hot Pie to give them some hot cakes and after a look to Yoren who nodded yes, Hot Pie took them over some hot cakes. Rorge and Biter snatched one each from his hands and eagerly ate. Jaqen H'ghar politely thanked him before chewing on the cake and then praised his cooking skills.

Soon the fires were stamped out and the wagons loaded, the horses and donkeys mounted, and they were on the road again. Yoren asked the hunter with the bow to ride out a bit and see what was ahead of them. As the morning grew old Yoren fell asleep in the wagon while Ned sat watching the countryside go by, keeping an eye on the column and on the road ahead as well. More than once they met people coming south and all said the same thing - turn around. Towards noon the hunter came back with news that there was a group of about fifteen men on foot about a mile ahead. They were armed with axes, hoes, and cudgels. Ned awoke Yoren and the party prepared for possible combat. Ned suddenly realized he had no weapon so Yoren gave him his dagger.

The group of men came over a rise on a hill and then stopped and seemed to be discussing what to do. Soon they were walking down the road towards the column, eyeing them carefully.

Yoren called a halt and ordered everyone to draw out their weapons. The group of men eyed them warily and moved off the road as they passed, keeping their distance, especially after they saw the few bows the Night's Watch recruits had. They were a mixed bunch of boys and men, and they were mostly in rags and had poor weapons. No one said a word and soon they were far behind them.

Yoren spat in the road after they had started moving again. "Scum. That lot will cause trouble for poor folks down the road."

"Aye. Maybe we should have done something about them."

Yoren shook his head. "We'd have beat them but we might have lost a few. You sure you want to be fighting with that leg and…well…"

My daughter at my side, was the unsaid thing, Ned knew. "No. You're right. A foolish notion. Best to avoid any fights."

After a while they entered a forested area, and had to cross many streams and brooks, most with small wooden bridges across them. At noon they halted and had a quiet lunch of bread and cold bacon and cheese, washed down with beer and water. The rest of the day was cool under the forest and the road soon narrowed and more and more folks were heading south, none as dangerous looking as the group of cutthroats they had passed. Many hours later the road widened some and they came upon a large stream and a stone inn with a waterwheel attached and several low lying outbuildings.

"Halt!" Yoren yelled down the column. He stood in the wagon. "We stop here for the night. I don't have enough coin for rooms but we can get a good meal inside and they have good ale. There's a bathhouse if any man wants a wash. Any man gets drunk and tries to run away or cause trouble gets put in the cage with the other three."

Rorge yelled through the bars. "You fucking black crow! Let us out to take a bath!"

"The first bath you'll get is at the Wall," Yoren told him. "And it'll be so cold you'll wish you'd never been born." Rorge cursed him as Yoren laughed and went in the inn.

The inn had a large common room with many tables and benches and a large stone fireplace with a roaring fire over which a large pot of stew was cooking. The innkeeper was a red-faced portly fellow with a jolly manner and a wide grin. He invited them in and seemed to know Yoren from previous visits. Soon they were seated at tables and had mugs of strong ale and bowls of mutton stew with bits of carrot, potato, and onion in it. Ned found himself seated with Yoren not far from Arya and the other boys. The innkeeper soon joined them. Yoren did not introduce Ned and the innkeeper did not ask for his name as he filled them in on the news he heard, which was pretty much the same as they heard the night before.

Ned was barely listening as he kept an ear on what Arya was up to. Lommy and Hot Pie went on about how they almost had a fight and Hot Pie said he was not afraid and would like to get in a fight. Arya laughed at him and said he had almost filled his pants when those men had walked by them this morning. Hot Pie yelled back at her and soon they were making jests and arguing across the table, adding to the din in the crowded inn. Gendry did not take part in their banter and stared off as he sipped his ale.

"I'm going to take a bath," Hot Pie said after a while.

"Don't forget to clean your pants," Arya teased him.

Hot Pie's face flushed. "If you didn't have that sword, I'd, I'd…"

"Piss off and take your bath," Gendry said to him in a mean tone. Hot Pie gaped at him and then started to leave.

"Wait for me," Lommy said, as he drained his ale and stood. Soon Gendry and Arya were alone.

"You shouldn't call a man a coward," Gendry said to her.

"Why not? He is a coward. You saw the look on his face."

"Not all men are brave."

"I am," Arya said back.

Gendry scoffed. "Right." And he drank more ale.

"I am too brave!"

"But you're not a…"

"Gendry!" Ned said to him, cutting him off before he said something foolish.

"Yes, my lord?"

"Lord? Who's a lord?" the innkeeper said, his eyes wide.

Yoren sighed. "This is Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell."

"Lord…Stark?" the innkeeper said a bit too loudly.

"Keep your voice down," Yoren said. But it was too late, everyone who was not in Yoren's group was looking over at them.

Just then the door to the inn burst open and one of the recruits came in. "Yoren!" he said, panting, out of breath. "There's a party of gold cloaks outside. Six of them."

"What's that got to do with us?" Yoren asked calmly.

"They're looking for someone."

"Who?"

"Him," said the recruit and he pointed at Gendry.


	5. Chapter 5 Varys

**Ned Stark Lives! Chapter 5 Varys**

He didn't like the screams, but they were necessary sometimes to get the information he required. Down in the bowels of the Red Keep at King's Landing Lord Varys sat at an old wooden table just outside the torture chamber, looking over a parchment as the screams continued within. The parchment was a map of King's Landing's main castle and keeps and the outer walls that faced Blackwater Bay. On it where the walls were closest to the sea were several crude Xs marked in charcoal on the city's outer walls. Lying on the table was a brass tube with two pieces of curved glass, one at either end. A product of Myr it was, oft called a spyglass by sailors. As Varys examined the items by lamp light another scream came from the other side of the door leading to the torture chamber.

The torture chamber had been here since Maegor the Cruel was king. Not all the rulers since him had made as steady use of it as Maegor did, but most had found it necessary from time to time. Robert Baratheon was not so inclined. In all his many years of rule Varys could not recall him ever ordering Varys to have someone tortured for information. Not that King Robert was a soft man. Far from it. But he saw himself as a hero who had gotten rid of a mad king and had no wish to replace him in all ways. Varys did his best to bring Robert as much information as he desired, and also preferred to use the subtle arts of intelligence gathering to get what he needed. But sometimes he had to use torture, such as now.

Another high pitched scream came from within the chamber and Varys found himself shuddering a bit. He looked at the face of the guard that stood outside the door and he looked very pale. The door to the chamber suddenly opened and a large black haired man came out. He was tall and muscled like a bull. Flecks of blood were sprinkled on his face and hands, and his ham sized fists were bruised and bloody. An equally bloody whip hung coiled at his belt.

"He's ready to talk, my lord," the torturer said and Varys nodded, stood and entered the chamber, taking the parchment with him.

It was a large room, having once contained many hideous instruments of torture but it was mostly empty now. Varys had heard Maegor the Cruel had dozens of people in here at a time. According to the stories, Maegor loved to come down here and whip the prisoners himself, or make them attack each other, sometimes making a father whip a daughter or a son burn out his mother's eyes. It is even said he tortured one of his own wives before executing her when she could not produce an heir. Varys gave another involuntary shudder. There were few instruments of torture in the room now except for a small brazier burning brightly with a red hot poker in its midst, and a few whips on the walls, and that was all that was really needed.

The man being tortured was naked and he hung by the wrists from chains in the ceiling in the center of the room. He was in his thirties perhaps, brown haired and bearded but going a bit bald, with a muscular body and strong arms. Many tattoos covered his upper body and arms, mostly with a maritime motif, fish, whales, sailing ships, and a few pretty women. He claimed he was a fisherman, whose small boat had been damaged the night before on the shores below the city walls on Blackwater Bay.

It had been a moonlight night, and he should have seen the danger, but he had the misfortune of striking a rock and his small boat barely made it to shore. There he was promptly seen by some other fishermen looking for the body of a lost companion who had fallen overboard earlier in the day. They called over some soldiers patrolling the shoreline, who captured the spy. He claimed he was just a fisherman but when his boat was examined they found the Myrish spyglass, and the map of the castle and fortifications of King's Landing. A smart captain of the guard realized the marks on the parchment indicated where the scorpions and catapults were on the walls of the city. The so-called fisherman refused to break under questioning so he was sent to Varys.

It was hard to tell what he really looked like. His face was puffy, his eyes almost swollen shut, his teeth broken, his lips split and bleeding. His body was now covered in small burn marks and strips of bloody flesh were torn off where the whips had flayed him, ruining most of the fine tattoo work he had had done. He had lost control of both his bladder and bowels. The torturer had thrown a bucket of water at him to clean him, but it hadn't cleaned him well nor got rid of the smell. Varys wrinkled his nose as he looked at the man.

"Do you know who I am?"

The man nodded. "The Spider," he said through his broken lips, his words slurred and slowly spoken. That got him another lash of the whip and he screamed once more. "L...L…Lord Varys," he sputtered. "My apologies."

"Graciously accepted," said Varys. "Now to the matter at hand. We found your spyglass and map." Varys held up the map. "Just what were you up to, my good man?"

A moment of hesitation and then he spoke. "Spying."

"Obviously," Varys said with a slight titter. "For whom is what I really wish to know. Renly or Stannis?"

Silence. Then a crack of the whip and he screamed again. "King Stannis."

"Joffrey Baratheon is King."

"He's a bastard," the man said with contempt. "Stannis is the rightful king." That got him another lash of the whip. He called Joffrey a bastard, thought Varys. He knew Ned Stark had written to Stannis Baratheon, telling him about his suspicions of Robert's children's true parentage. What has Stannis Baratheon been telling his people? And how soon would the story spread?

After the echoes of the man's scream ended, Varys questioned him again. "What were your orders?"

"Map the defenses of King's Landing," came the answer in slow gasps.

"When will Stannis attack?"

"Don't know. I'm just a fisherman."

"A smart fisherman, it would seem," Varys commented as he peered once more at the parchment. "You can use a spyglass and read a map. Are you really just a common fisherman?"

"Yes."

Varys nodded to the torturer and the whip cracked again. The man sobbed this time. "Just a fisherman," said the man and then the whip cracked once more. "Just…just…one of his captains."

Varys smiled. "That's better. What is your name?"

"Reginald Carlyle."

Varys frowned. "I don't seem to recall you." That _was_ unusual, as Varys thought he knew the names of all Stannis' captains.

"I have been away, trading across the Narrow Sea," Carlyle gasped. "I returned to Dragonstone a few days ago."

"Ah, that explains much. And how many ships does Stannis have?"

"A lot."

"How many?"

"More than one hundred. Galleys and cogs, most built for war. Sallandor Saan is with him."

"The pirate," Varys mused. "How much is he demanding?"

"Don't know."

"Does Stannis have much gold?"

"Don't know."

"When will Stannis attack?"

"Didn't say."

The torturer went to whip him again but Varys held his hand up and shook his head. "No, that is enough for now. A maester will see to his injuries. Then return him to his cell and make sure he is fed. And cleaned."

Varys turned to leave but Carlyle spoke once more. "What is to become of me?"

"That is up to the true king," Varys said and then he left.

Soon he was back in the daylight crossing a courtyard and making his way back to his quarters where a hot bath was in order after being in the smelly dungeons. But as Varys turned towards the entrance to the stairs to his rooms a shadow stepped out from the wall and Joffrey's dog, Sandor Clegane, the Hound, was standing there, in his full armor and with all his weapons as usual.

"The King wants a word," Clegane said without any preamble or even bothering to add Varys' name or title. In his few experiences with the man Varys knew he never stood on formality except when talking to the King or Queen.

"Concerning?" Varys asked, staring at him full in the face, something most people found hard to do because of the hideous burns on the right side of Clegane's head.

"He did not say and I am not stupid enough to ask." Clegane turned and started walking away and Varys knew he should follow. Joffrey's dog not only liked to bark, he liked to bite and Varys knew not to test his patience. His brother Ser Gregor was much worse. An even temper was sorely lacking in the Clegane family.

"And how fairs the King?" Varys asked.

"Better. He only shit five times this morning," Clegane told him.

"Well, that is an improvement over the more than twenty times yesterday. Has Grand Maester Pycelle determined the illness?"

"Bad food."

"It's the heat, spoils everything," Varys said. "What did the King eat to cause this illness?"

"I'm not a fucking maester," Clegane snarled. "Ask Pycelle."

They walked in silence the rest of the way. Varys knew what Joffrey had eaten and he knew why he was sick, because he had caused it, but he had to make a pretense of bewilderment, even to someone like Sandor Clegane. He knew much about the Hound, knew he hated his brother with a burning passion, a hatred that was caused by the burning of his face when they were boys. He also knew Clegane frequented whorehouses and wine sinks when he was not on duty. He drank himself into a stupor most nights when not performing his duties.

Clegane had first come to King's Landing years ago soon after Joffrey's birth. Cersei had asked her father for a strong man for her son's shield and her father had sent Sandor Clegane, thereby providing a stout guard for his grandson and ridding himself of a potential war on his doorstep between the Clegane brothers. When he first came to King's Landing, the Hound was not well known in the capital. A few fools thought to challenge him when he was drunk and soon learned to their peril that the Hound was a killing machine, drunk or sober. And now he was a member of the Kingsguard, the supposed paradigm of virtue and shining knighthood in the Seven Kingdoms. Of course with Jaime Lannister the Kingslayer a member and with Barristan Selmy sent into forced retirement, it was not so virtuous or shining anymore. Clegane had refused to be made a knight, and spit on all those 'Sers' and their airy ways. He was also supposed to wear the white enameled armor of the Kingsguard now that he was a member but he still often went about in his old black armor.

After many twists and turns and stairs they came to the King's quarters. They were the same rooms he had as a prince, since his mother still occupied the royal suites. Varys was sure that one day soon that would change, as the King asserted himself more. Outside the door stood two Kingsguard men, Ser Boros Blount and Ser Mandon Moore. Without a word they opened the doors, stepped aside, and let Clegane and Varys enter.

In the room Grand Maester Pycelle was seated at a table mixing something in a small bowl, with many vials and jars on the table before him. The King sat near an open window on a cushioned chair with his feet on a padded footstool, a blanket wrapped around him. He looked pale and sweaty and was still dressed in his bedclothes.

"The Spider, Your Grace," said Clegane as they entered the room and the door closed behind them.

"Good dog," Joffrey told him. Varys was about to speak when Pycelle cleared his throat and Joffrey turned his eyes toward him.

"This should be the last purging I think, Your Grace," said Pycelle and he stood with the bowl in his hands.

Joffrey made a face. "Not yet. I must talk to Lord Varys. I can't do it sitting on the privy."

"Of course, Your Grace," Pycelle said as he sat down again.

"How may I be of service, Your Grace?" Varys asked as he dipped his head low.

"I want someone put in the kitchens to spy on the cooks and servants."

"Someone is already there, Your Grace." Varys replied as he stood straight again.

"Good. Then I want to know who poisoned me."

Pycelle sighed. "Your Grace, it is not poison. As I said I checked the food and it was the eggs that were bad. A common problem in the heat and when they sit too long after being laid."

"Then why did no one else get sick?" Joffrey asked in anger, but an anger tempered by the weakness of his body.

"Because your food is prepared only for you, Your Grace," Varys told him. "No one else eats the King's food."

"That will change at once," Joffrey commanded. "I want a food taster. I want every dish to be tasted before I eat it from now on."

"As you command, Your Grace," Varys said in his most fawning way.

"Now, Your Grace..." Pycelle started to say when Joffrey glared at him.

"Not yet!" He returned his attention to Varys. "I have one more task for you Lord Varys."

"Anything, Your Grace."

"I want to know something about my father."

Varys knew where this was going. He had heard Joffrey was asking questions about his father's bastards. "Perhaps this should be discussed in private, Your Grace."

"No," Joffrey said in a sneering tone. "I want them to hear. I want them to know what kind of man my father truly was. I want you to tell me the truth. Dog, if Lord Varys lies I want you to cut his throat for me."

"My pleasure, Your Grace," Clegane said with what Varys thought was glee. At least it sounded like it to his ears. Why did everyone hate the Spider so?

Varys knew Joffrey would not give such a command to his dog, but he made a pretense of gulping. He saw Pycelle start to rise again, about to say something but then changed his mind and sat. Pycelle had no love for Varys and would do nothing to interfere. "I await your questions, Your Grace," Varys said.

"Tell it true," Joffrey began. "How many bastards did my father have?"

Varys answered immediately. "Eight that I know of."

He saw right away that Joffrey did not know it was so many and was truly shocked. "Eight? That's…who are they? Where do they live?"

"The oldest is a girl, Mya Stone, who lives in the Vale and has counted nineteen name days," began Varys. "Then there is Edric Storm, at Storm's End, who your father sired with a noble lady the night of Stannis Baratheon wedding. In the wedding bed actually. Stannis never forgave him for that." Varys tittered a bit after that comment but stopped as he saw the King failed to find it funny. "This Edric Storm your father actually had to acknowledge as his since the boy's mother is of noble birth. Then there is a girl in the Reach, her name and age I cannot recall at the moment. Name of Flowers, no doubt. An older girl in the Riverlands named Bella, who is a whore by all accounts. A boy of five or six somewhere in the North, White Harbor I believe, although your father met his mother here in King's Landing. There is another boy in the west, at Lannisport, about eight or nine years of age, sired when King Robert went west to put down the Greyjoy Rebellion. And there is another boy of fifteen and a baby girl here in King's Landing. Your Grace."

Joffrey was speechless for a moment, then spoke, too shocked to be angry. "Could there be more?"

Varys nodded. "It grieves me to tell you this Your Grace, but you did ask. Your father was a lustful man and rarely spent a night alone, whether here or elsewhere. It would not surprise me if there were more of his bastards in the Seven Kingdoms.

Joffrey stared off into space for a few moments and no one said a word. "Did he love my mother?"

"I did not know his heart, Your Grace."

"He went to war when Rhaegar Targaryen kidnapped Ned Stark's sister," Joffrey said with disgust. "He loved her, didn't he?"

"It was well-known that Lyanna Stark was his first love, Your Grace," Varys replied. "But that was before he met your mother."

No one said a word for a long few moments and the silence lengthened as Joffrey brooded on his father's actions, staring out the window. Then Joffrey looked back at Varys. "I knew there were two of his bastards in King's Landing. I heard Jon Arryn and Stark had been asking around about my father's bastards in the city. Tell me more about these two."

"The girl is just a baby. She was born to a whore in one of Littlefinger's establishments. The boy is named Gendry and has counted fifteen name days and is an apprentice in the Street of Steel, Your Grace. His mother died seven years ago." It was all true and Varys knew he had to tell it true because he did not know exactly what Joffrey had learned on his own. Hopefully Joffrey did not know Varys had arranged for Gendry to leave with the Night's Watch group yesterday morning.

"You will provide all details on these two bastards to Lord Slynt, commander of the gold cloaks, today, right now," Joffrey commanded. "Now leave us."

"As you command, Your Grace," Varys said and without another word he bowed and left the room. Not surprisingly he found Janos Slynt outside the room waiting for him. Varys had no liking for the man, an upjumped commoner who had betrayed Ned Stark and was now Lord of Harrenhal.

"Lord Slynt," he said in greeting.

"Lord Varys," Slynt replied. "The King said you would have some names for me."

"And what did the King say you were to do with those names?"

Slynt bristled, his jowls quivering. "That is of no concern to you."

"Of course not," Varys answered in a genial manner. He told Slynt the details of the two bastards as Joffrey had commanded and then made his way back to his rooms. Varys always lived life on a knife's edge, and a mistake one way or the other could mean the end of him. So he told Slynt, and knew if he found the baby and Gendry they would soon be dead. But that was out of his hands now.

A bath did wonders to ease his cares and the sore back he had been plagued with for years. His bad back was a result of his ample stomach and his life long bad habit of sleeping on said stomach, causing his back to twist in a bad way. Try as he might his stomach never seemed to grow smaller, nor grow much bigger. Varys was a eunuch, a fact well-known to all, and believed his rotund figure more a product of his lack of manhood than a prodigious appetite. All eunuchs were prone to plumpness. In his youth Varys had known other eunuchs and all were plump like he was. There were few eunuchs in Westeros but across the Narrow Sea they were common, mainly slaves, and were used to guard high born women and whorehouses. Varys had heard a maester once say that the plumpness was due to the lack of manly parts, that it turned eunuchs more feminine than masculine.

After his bath and a light lunch and a perusal of all new information, he was preparing to leave to tell the Queen about this news from the captured seaman when a messenger came calling Varys to a sudden council meeting with the Queen. He arrived to find Pycelle and the Queen already there. In front of the Queen were two raven scroll parchments, opened and somewhat crumpled. Cersei looked distraught, and seemed red eyed, as if she had also been crying recently. Varys said nothing of this. He bowed to Cersei, "Your Grace." She said nothing and so he looked to Pycelle. "How fairs the King?"

"Better. He should be well enough to resume his duties on the morrow." Oh, joy, Varys thought. And what folly will the King get up to? He had stopped him from killing Ned Stark, but that trick won't work again. Not now.

Cersei turned her eyes to Varys as he sat down. She now glared at him with fury, her voice harsh. "What lies have you been telling my son?"

Ah, Pycelle told her everything, Varys knew in an instant. Varys glanced over at him and both knew that he knew. "Yes, he told me," Cersei snapped. "Grand Maester Pycelle is a loyal subject who told me all that was said in my son's bed chambers not a few hours past."

"Your Grace, I did as the King commanded me. With his dog at my throat, what choice did I have?"

"You could have lied to him," Cersei said and then smiled in a nasty way. "You're good at that, aren't you? Lying? A man like you doesn't get to where he is without being a good liar."

"If I have somehow offended Your Grace, I sincerely apologize," Varys offered in his most obsequious manner.

"Yes, you have offended me!" Cersei almost shouted at him. "Any mother would be offended if some fool told her son about his father's infidelities. If Tommen or Myrcella hear about this I swear I will have Joffrey's dog rip out your throat."

"They will never hear it from my lips, Your Grace," Varys said in reply. "But in my defense Your Grace, the King already knew some about his father's bastards. He also knew Jon Arryn and Ned Stark were making inquires."

"Inquires?" said the voice of Littlefinger as he entered the room with his ledger book in his hands as usual. He bowed to Cersei. "Your Grace. Has the meeting started without me?"

"Sit down," commanded Cersei. "If you spent more time worrying about the problems of the realm than the coins you collect at your whorehouses you'd be here on time."

"Ah, apologies your Grace," said Littlefinger. "It so happens there was a problem at one of my whorehouses. That is why I am late. Lord Slynt and some of his honorable gold cloaks were there."

Oh dear, thought Varys. It has already happened. Cersei's eyes narrowed. "What does Slynt have to do with your whorehouse? Was he a customer or arresting one of your whores?"

"His men were killing a baby girl," Littlefinger said without any hint of emotion.

Pycelle muttered a prayer to the gods, and Cersei's face blanched. "A baby girl?"

"One of your late husband's bastards, I believe," Littlefinger told her. She took a deep breath and then another and her eyes turned to Varys. For a moment he thought she would shout at him but he knew in her eyes that it was fear she felt, and disgust. She knew Joffrey had given the order. She knew her son was truly a monster.

Cersei recovered and spoke calmly. "We have more pressing matters to deal with my lords. There is news from the Riverlands." She turned to Pycelle.

"Dire news, I am afraid," the Grand Maester began. "War has begun in the Riverlands despite our desires to avoid it. We have had two ravens from Lord Tywin. The first message told us that his host defeated a Stark contingent on the Green Fork."

"That sounds like good news," said Littlefinger. He turned to Varys. "News you had not yet heard. How surprising."

Varys smiled. "Even my little birds take time to fly to me."

Cersei snapped at them. "Listen you two fools or the small council will grow smaller." She nodded to Pycelle to continue.

"The second raven message said the Stark contingent they defeated was a minor part of the Stark host. The majority slipped past Lord Tywin's army and struck at Riverrun and raised the siege."

"Oh dear," said Varys. This was indeed news to him. "How fared our forces?"

"Lord Tywin did not say," Pycelle told them. "But he did mention one loss."

Pycelle cast his eyes at Cersei. "The Starks have my brother," she said through clenched teeth.

"Lord Tyrion has been captured again?" asked Littlefinger and Varys just rolled his eyes and knew it was a mistake.

"MY OTHER BROTHER!" Cersei shouted at him in all her fury. She took several deep breaths and slowly calmed down as no one said a word. "Jaime was captured in an ambush."

"How dreadful," said Varys. My, oh, my, this does make the game more interesting. But how?

"A great loss," said Littlefinger and even seemed sincere about it.

"He's not dead," Cersei said quietly, her wall of steel nerves almost cracking but she quickly recovered.

"We can ransom the Stark girls for Ser Jaime," Pycelle said quickly. "He will be back with us soon, Your Grace."

Littlefinger scoffed. "Robb Stark will never give up Ser Jaime for two girls."

"One," said Varys.

"One," echoed Cersei. "Arya Stark has not been found."

"Why not, Lord Varys?" Littlefinger asked with a slight smirk. "I thought you were the master of all whispers."

Varys ignored the insult. "Oh, several things could have happened to her. Perhaps she is a corpse in a shallow grave. Or she is hiding or has fled the city. When I mentioned her being missing to Eddard Stark he seemed to think the latter as well. Claimed she was a wild one and would not be found unless she wanted to be found. My mistake was to be searching for a high born lady. She is not a lady, not yet at least, and is not afraid of a little mud or dirt between her fingers."

"Then widen your search and look in the eye every gutter rat girl in the city," Cersei told him. "As for my brother, we will bring Ned Stark back to the city and trade him for Jaime. It was a mistake to let him go so easily." A mistake you agreed to, Varys thought, but said nothing.

"Yes," Pycelle said, ever the sycophant. "Your Grace is correct. We must bring Ned Stark back. We must then ransom him for Ser Jaime." A fawning fool to the end, Varys thought.

"And what of Ned Stark's agreement to take the black?" asked Varys. "The Night's Watch has traditionally been beyond the touch of kings and queens."

"The men of the Night's Watch take their final oath at the Wall," Pycelle told them. "After completing training. He is not a black brother yet."

Littlefinger shook his head. "Robb Stark may be reluctant to trade a battle commander and fine swordsman like Ser Jaime for his father who will be of no use to him because of his oath to take the black."

"We will give him Sansa as well," said Cersei, seemingly clutching at straws. "And Arya when we find her."

"Sansa Stark is betrothed to the King, Your Grace," Varys reminded her. "He may be reluctant to let her go."

Cersei snarled at him. "I'll find Joffrey another little wench to bed on his wedding night, I assure you. My lords, we will find Ned Stark and Arya Stark and trade all three for my brother. Where is Ned Stark now do you suppose?

"Many leagues to the north by now, but still far south of Gods Eye," said Varys. "They have been gone more than a day and half now."

"Send a fast party of horsemen, the fastest horsemen in the city," Cersei ordered. "Lannister men. Not gold cloaks. I want him back here alive."

"He should not be hard to find," Littlefinger commented. "A party of Night's Watch recruits on the Kingsroad. I am sure if we question the throngs coming down the Kingsroad they should know a thing or two."

Cersei looked at him in puzzlement. "Throngs? What throngs?"

Varys spoke first. "There is turmoil in the Riverlands and between here and the God's Eye. Many of the small folk are heading our way, Your Grace. They seek protection and food. We will soon be overrun."

"Close the gates to them," she commanded. "Give them no food. With the road south closed by Renly's host and with Stannis choking Blackwater Bay from Dragonstone we will need all the food we have in storage."

"Speaking of which, Your Grace," said Varys. "The fisherman captured yesterday has broken. He is one of Stannis' captains, who was spying, plotting our defenses on a map. He told me that Stannis has over one hundred ships, plus the Lyseni pirate Sallandor Saan's ships."

"Can it get any worse?" Cersei muttered. "What are our options, my lords?"

"Such numbers," said Pycelle in worry. "Can we withstand attack from land and sea?"

"A siege, yes," said Littlefinger. "A sustained attack, I am not so sure. But we have enough food to withstand a siege of a few months." He was looking at his ledger books. "If the attack comes soon. But our present food stocks will not last more than a few months, especially with so little coming in. We also have precious few soldiers in the city except your personal guard and the gold cloaks.

"I commanded father to bring his army here!" Cersei almost shouted again. Just then Janos Slynt entered the room and Cersei saw him first and her lips curled in disgust. "Lord Slynt."

"Apologies Your Grace, I had matters to attend to." Slynt went to sit but Cersei spoke first. "Do not sit," she told him. Slynt looked confused for a moment but did as he was bidden. "I hear you have been killing babies of late."

Slynt quickly glanced at Littlefinger who grinned at him. "It was by the King's command, Your Grace."

Cersei's nostrils flared. "The King is a boy. I am the Queen Regent. All commands from the King should come to me first, you fool. How many other babies have you killed today?"

"No more, Your Grace," Slynt said, his brow now covered in sweat. "The other bastard is not in the city any more."

"What other bastard?" she demanded, looking at Varys.

"An apprentice armorer," Varys said. "A boy of fifteen. He was the one Lord Arryn and Ned Stark were questioning, Your Grace."

Cersei bristled and turned back to Slynt. "Where is he now?"

"His master said he kicked the boy out yesterday and told him to join the Night's Watch."

"Kicked him out? Yesterday, to join the Night's Watch," Cersei said in a very suspicious tone with a look to Varys. "Almost like the boy knew someone was coming to kill him today."

"Ned Stark knew who he was," Varys replied calmly, the lie already prepared. "Perhaps he slipped a message out of the prison. He did speak to that Night's Watch man Yoren before he left. A final act of kindness for his dead friend Robert, perhaps."

Cersei sighed in disgust and then stared at Slynt and he quailed under her gaze. "Lord Slynt, do you want a riot in the city?"

"No, Your Grace."

"If you keep killing babies and people find out the King ordered it, there will be riots. We have enough enemies outside these walls. We do not need any inside them."

"Wise words, Your Grace," Pycelle commented but Cersei ignored him as she continued to talk to Slynt.

"You will stop killing my late husband's bastards. If the King commands it you will nod and say yes and come to me. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Your Grace. But, but…"

"But what?" she asked in a seething tone.

"I've already sent a party of six men up the Kingsroad to find the boy that went with the Night's Watch party."

"With what orders?" the Queen demanded to know.

Slynt gulped. "To kill him and bring his head back to King's Landing."


	6. Chapter 6 Arya

**Ned Stark Lives! Chapter 6 Arya**

As soon as the recruit had entered the inn to tell them about the gold cloaks Yoren had ordered Arya and Gendry to get up the stairs and hide. The bewildered innkeeper pleaded with Yoren to cause no trouble as Yoren and Arya's father and the other recruits piled out the door. Now Arya knelt on the floor in a room on the second floor of the inn by the stream on the Kingsroad. She was peering out the window down in the front courtyard of the inn. Below she could see Yoren and her father talking to the gold cloaks that had come looking for Gendry. The gold cloaks were still on their horses. Many more of the Night's Watch recruits were standing around them, weapons in hand.

"What are they saying?" Gendry whispered in Arya's left ear. He was kneeling beside her, trying to see out the window without raising his head too high. His breath was hot and smelled like ale and mutton stew.

"Shut up!" she whispered back fiercely. "Listen."

"Aye, I'm with the Night's Watch." Yoren was telling the gold cloak officer. "And what would you be wanting?"

"I have a royal warrant," said the officer in a stern tone. He had a rolled parchment in his left hand. "We're to bring a bastard called Gendry back to the city. He has a bull's head helmet. He was seen leaving King's Landing with your group."

"That's right," Yoren replied. "And he belongs to the Night's Watch now. He's beyond the touch of kings and queens."

"We have a royal warrant!"

"Piss on your warrant," Yoren said as he spat on the ground.

The officer began to draw his sword and his men meant to followed suit but in a flash Yoren's sword was out and at the officer's belly and the rest of the Night's Watch recruits brandished their weapons at the other gold cloaks. To Arya's surprise even Hot Pie and Lommy were there, both with big rocks in their hands.

"This is treason!" the officer shouted at them. "You'll all hang!"

"You first," said one of the recruits as he brandished a mace. The hunter had his bow drawn and an arrow notched. "Nah, I think this one will get an arrow through the heart before he hangs," he said.

"All these men belong to the Night's Watch," said Arya's father to the gold cloaks, his voice loud and strong and commanding. "Including the boy you want. You best get back to King's Landing while you can."

"Best do what Lord Stark says," Yoren told the officer. "Or we might have to dig six fresh graves by the side of the road."

The office sneered. "I don't take orders from traitors!"

"You already do," said Arya's father and the officer's sneer grew into a look of confusion. What did that mean, Arya thought? Did the officer take orders from traitors? She didn't know who was in charge of the gold cloaks. Maybe he meant Joffrey. And maybe Cersei. They could give orders to the gold cloaks. But he was the King and she was the Queen. How could they be traitors? Traitors to who?

"We'll be back," said the officer after a moment of hesitation. "And we won't be alone." With that he swiftly turned his horse around and his men followed and Arya last saw them heading south on the Kingsroad, crossing the wooden bridge over the stream and then disappearing where the road went in the forest on the far side.

"Should've killed them," said the hunter.

"Aye," said Yoren. "But some of you would be dead, too."

Arya sat on the floor of the room and Gendry sat next to her. She was looking at him in puzzlement. Something wasn't right here. He was just an armorer's apprentice. He was rather common looking, except for his very black hair and very blue eyes. What would they want with him? "Why do the gold cloaks want you?"

"Don't know," he answered, and he looked away and Arya knew he was hiding something.

"Liar."

"You shouldn't call people liar."

"You are a liar," she said louder. "They had a warrant for you. Why?'

Gendry shrugged and she punched his arm. "Tell me!" He laughed and she punched him again and he laughed again. "You hit like a girl."

Arya's face flushed. "I'm not a girl!"

Gendry raised his eyebrows. "Now who's the liar?"

Arya felt her face grow all hot. What did he know? Her father! "Did Lord Stark say…?"

"That you are his daughter? Yes. Lady Arya Stark of Winterfell."

"Don't call me a lady!" she almost yelled and she punched him again.

"What's this all about?" came her father's stern voice from the door.

Arya stood and so did Gendry. "You told him who I am!" she said in as loud a tone as she dared.

Her father sighed and nodded. "He already knew you were a girl."

Arya looked at Gendry. "How?" she asked more quietly.

"You were always pis…making water in the woods," he said. "Besides, you look like a girl. I'm not stupid. My lady."

"Yes, you are!" She punched him in the arm again, this time really hard and Gendry yelped in real pain.

"Enough of that!" her father said in a stern tone and then he looked at Gendry. "And don't you call her 'my lady' anymore."

"Yes. My lord," Gendry said with his eyes cast down.

"Why do the gold cloaks want him?" Arya asked.

Her father looked at Gendry, then back to her. "Don't rightly know."

Arya looked from one to the other. She couldn't call her father a liar but she felt he knew why they wanted Gendry so he _was_ a liar. Maybe. If someone didn't tell you something they knew but also didn't tell you a lie about it, were they a liar? "Just tell me," she said, almost pleading. "I can keep a secret."

"That's up to Gendry."

Arya looked at Gendry but he wouldn't look at her. "Fine!" she said in a huff. "Keep your secrets. I don't care." She started to leave but her father stopped her.

"The innkeeper's daughter is bringing up a bucket of hot water for you so you can have a wash. Gendry, you best get to the baths if you want to get clean. Yoren said we'll leave as soon as everyone is ready. We aren't staying here the night."

"Sorry for bringing trouble, my lord," Gendry apologized.

"Not your fault, lad. Get going."

Gendry left and Arya sat on the bed that was in the room and which had a straw filled mattress. Her father sat next to her, wincing in pain from his bad leg.

"How is your leg?"

"Mending. But slowly," he replied. He put an arm around her and looked at her closely. "Trouble is following us."

"Following Gendry, you mean."

"Aye. But we're here with him so it's our trouble as well."

"What did he do? Did he kill someone?"

"No. He's just a good lad who is in a bad situation. And don't you be bothering him about it. If he wants to tell you, he will."

She nodded and then she remembered she had wanted to ask him something. "Why did you tell him to look after me?"

"I'm worried about you."

"Yes, but why Gendry?"

"I'd met him before, in King's Landing."

"Oh…How?"

"I visited his shop."

"Why?"

"To get my sword fixed. Now enough with the questions. You leave him alone and…" But before he could scold her further there was a knock on the door and her father got up and opened the door a crack and then opened it wide. A young girl no older than Arya came in with a bucket of hot water and a wash cloth. Her father thanked the girl and then she left and he stepped outside, saying he would guard the door while she washed.

Arya felt the water in the bucket and it was warm, not hot, but it would do nicely. She hadn't had a bath in well over a week, not since her father was arrested and she had run away. Now she felt all grimy and dirty, the filth of King's Landing's mean streets and alleys in her hair and on her body. She quickly stripped and soon had the cloth soaking wet and began rubbing the soapy water all over her body. Arya dipped her head in the water and held it there for a long time, then raised her head and let the water pour down her face and back. She washed her face and hair as best she could and soon felt much better. But her clothes were still dirty and putting them back on again after a wash made them feel twice as dirty.

Afterwards her father went off to the baths for a quick wash while she stayed outside with the rest of the men and Yoren. She watched as he pulled off a leaf from the sour leaf bale in the lead wagon and started chewing, and then he gave some out to some recruits who asked. It made their mouths frothy and they spit red. Arya had never tried sour leaf. It looked like a disgusting habit which she wanted no part of.

Arya's clothes itched and felt terrible but there was nothing she could do about it. Most of the others still had wet hair from the baths and all were tired. She stood by her donkey with Gendry, Hot Pie, and Lommy nearby.

"I bet he's a criminal," Lommy was saying, trying to whisper but failing.

"He weren't in that cell with us," Hot Pie replied.

"That's cause he ain't been caught yet."

If Gendry had heard them he ignored them as he adjusted the bridle on his donkey. Arya looked at him in the growing darkness and whispered to him. "Did you kill someone?"

"Not yet," he whispered back, and she sucked in her breath and her hand automatically went to Needle's hilt but then she calmed down when she saw him grinning and it was a nice grin and she knew he was jesting.

"I won't ask again," Arya said, remembering her father's warning.

"I can't tell you," Gendry whispered, in a serious tone. "You wouldn't believe me anyway. I don't believe it myself."

Arya said nothing but felt confused once again. Why can't he believe something that was true about himself?

Just then her father and the last men came from the baths. Her father was limping, using a stick to help him walk. Arya wanted to help him but knew she couldn't. He hobbled to the front of the line and Yoren helped him up on the wagon and then without a word the first wagon started and the hunter rode off on his horse in front of it and soon they were on the road again.

The road was more of a track now, the way heavily forested and the going was very slow in the gloom. Yoren lit a lamp up front and soon they made better time, but it was not easy. After a few hours they hadn't gone far, and most were dead tired and the horses and donkeys were as well. Arya kept dozing off and once Gendry had to grab her arm to stop her from falling off her donkey. Then they came out of the thickest part of the forest and the sky was above them, clean and clear, and the stars were bright and everyone started looking up and one man shouted and another pointed and soon they all saw it. A red streak across the sky, looking like the gods had painted it with a heavenly stroke of a giant brush.

"What is it?" gasped Hot Pie.

"The sky's on fire!" said Lommy in fear.

Arya laughed at him. "The sky can't burn." They were such idiots. She didn't know what it was either but she had some lessons about the stars back at Winterfell. She and Sansa usually had lessons with Septa Mordane, who taught them about the Seven and sewing and needle work and how to run a household and play music and sing. Arya was terrible at it all except for how to run a household. Sansa was good at everything Arya wasn't good at. They were so different Arya wondered how they could be sisters sometimes. They had also had some lessons with Maester Luwin, about things maesters knew, about the plants, and the rocks, and the oceans, and the animals, and about the history of Westeros and the great houses of the realm. Arya liked those lessons best cause they often had them with Bran, and Sansa was not so perfect as she was at the things Septa Mordane had taught them. Master Luwin also taught them about the sun and the moon and the stars.

Maester Luwin said there were many theories about the stars and moon and sun and our world. The one he liked best was the one that said that the world was a round ball of rock and water and trees and the stars and moon and sun were all around the world. Arya at first thought that was stupid. The land was flat, not round like a ball. She told the maester and he nodded. "Many men believe that is so. But, my child, why does the sun rise in the east and set in the west? Why does the moon appear here and there, not always in the same place, and why does it change shape? And the stars move as well. Sailors who have been across the Narrow Sea to the Free Cities and to the Jade Sea and back say the stars are in different places in the night sky in those lands. A wise sailor can even use them to navigate, steering his ship by the stars. And the land everywhere appears as a smudge on the horizon and then rises out of the water, growing bigger as you get closer. If the world is all flat, why does all this happen? Because the world is round, and the stars and moon and sun are all around our world."

It seemed right, but she still wasn't sure. The world looked flat to her. Well, except for the hills and mountains. Arya had told her brother Jon what the maester had said. He had told her Maester Luwin had the right of it and she trusted Jon so from then on she believed it, too. But she couldn't tell that to these boys, that the stars moved around their round world, and maybe this red streak was one of those moving stars. They would laugh at her and wonder how she knew and she couldn't explain that. No, she had to keep pretending to be a stupid boy, a stupid commoner boy like they were.

"It's just a star on fire, falling toward the sun," she said, trying to sound as dumb as they did.

Now it was Lommy's turn to snicker at her. "Stars don't fall into the sun," he said as if he knew everything. "The sun is out in the day and the stars are out at night. How could a star fall into the sun?"

"Don't know," said Hot Pie. "Looks like it's falling, though, don't it?"

Gendry was gazing up at the red streak. "It looks like a sword after coming out of the hot forge."

Arya had seen a sword come out of the forge at Winterfell and the red streak did sort of look like that. Thinking of Winterfell and Maester Luwin and Jon made her homesick. Maybe they never should have left and none of the bad things would have happened. But soon she'd be home and her mother and Bran and Rickon and everyone else would be there.

No, that's not right. Sansa wouldn't be there. Or Jon or Robb. Or Jory or Septa Mordane or Jeyne Poole or Jeyne's father. Arya didn't even know what had happened to most of those they had left Winterfell with. Some had died, she knew that, had seen some of their bodies near the stables. The others she thought must have died too, or were prisoners like Sansa. She felt a deep hurt inside as she thought on all this and also felt an intense anger at those who had caused it all. Winterfell would not be the same as when she had left. Was home still home if the people who belonged there weren't there anymore?

Up ahead she saw the light Yoren carried on the front wagon moving to the left. Soon the rest of them followed it and they found themselves in a small clearing. The red streak in the sky made it bright enough to see the stone foundations of a house that had once stood here but had been burnt or somehow else been destroyed. They halted and Yoren told them to bed down for a few hours. Once the horses and donkeys were hobbled and a few guards set, everyone was too tired to do much else except flop to the ground and cover themselves as best they could. Arya found a not so lumpy patch of ground and lay on her back for a while looking up at the red streak in the starry sky.

Nearby lay Gendry. He knew who she was now, knew her big secret. Still, he had said nothing to the others. Yoren had said anyone of them would turn her in for a few coppers and their freedom. But Gendry wasn't like the others. At least she didn't think so. Or maybe he was a criminal, too. Maybe he was running away from something. What was he running from? Why did he join the Night's Watch? What did the gold cloaks want with him?

She peered through her half close eyelids at the red streak high above. "It looks sort of like a sword," she whispered to Gendry.

"A bit," he said after a moment. "Right before the hot steel hits the cold water." They were silent for a moment. Gendry rolled on his side and looked at her and whispered. "Where did you get your sword?"

"Needle was…"

"Needle?"

"All great swords have names. Needle was a gift from my brother Jon."

"Is he fighting with your other brother?"

"No," Arya whispered. "He's at the Wall. He joined the Night's Watch."

"Why?"

"He's a bast…sorry. He's…"

"A bastard. You can say it, I know what I am."

"My father said it was not a nice word."

"No, I guess not. But I bet there are a lot of bastards on the Wall," Gendry whispered. "No where else to go."

He lay back and they were silent for a long time. Arya had never thought of Jon as anything but her brother. She knew her mother never liked him, but everyone else did. Jon had always mussed up her hair and called her little sister. And he had Mikken the Winterfell smith make Needle for her. Needle had saved her.

"Have you ever made a sword?" she whispered to Gendry.

"Not yet. Was going to but…but I left."

"Why?"

He sighed heavily. "Go to sleep, Arry." He rolled to his other side and said nothing else and after a while Arya let exhaustion overwhelm her.

It didn't seem like she had slept long before Yoren was kicking them all awake and the sun was rising. They found a nearby stream and soon had filled their water skins and bottles and had a big pot of grounded up oats cooking for breakfast. Everyone had a bowl full and after they cleaned up Arya had a chance to sneak off to use the bathroom in the nearby woods. She said nothing to Gendry but he saw her leaving and he looked about to make sure no one was taking an interest in what she was doing. When she came back her father was talking to Gendry. She walked up and they stopped talking and her father hobbled away after a quick worried look to her.

"What's going on?" she asked Gendry quietly.

"He said the road is going to get more dangerous from now on."

"I knew that."

Gendry's eyes darted about, like he was hiding something. "What else did he say?"

He looked at her and hesitated but finally spoke. "He said if we get attacked and it looks bad I'm to…I'm to get you away."

Arya glared at him. "I'm glad you two have decided I need saving! I can fight, too!"

He raised his eyebrows and looked at Needle at her side. "You ever kill anyone with Needle?" The way he said it, it sounded like he was sure she never had even scratched anyone but herself with Needle.

"I killed a stable boy at King's Landing."

He stared at her, confusion on his face, as if that was the last thing he had expected her to say. "You did not."

"I don't care if you believe me or not," she said in a huff and started to walk away.

"Wait…," Gendry said but she kept going and soon they were with the others and it wasn't safe to talk anymore.

Before long Yoren ordered them to mount up and they pulled back onto the rutted track that passed for the Kingsroad here. For a while Arya rode in silence besides Gendry, Hot Pie, and Lommy. Hot Pie went on about the desserts and bread he could make and it was making her stomach grumble thinking of all the delicious food she had eaten in her life. After a while one of the older recruits told Hot Pie to shut up about food or he was going to eat him.

Soon after Arya kicked her donkey in the sides and moved up to be nearer to where her father sat in his wagon. She was mad at him, thinking she needed a bodyguard. She knew she was a little girl but she didn't feel like it, not with Needle at her side, not with Syrio walking with her, telling her not today and that fear cuts deeper than swords. She knew she was better at wielding a sword than anyone here except her father and Yoren.

In the lead wagon Yoren was dozing on the bale of sour leaf and her father sat with his bad leg propped up on a sack of something. The wagon driver was looking ahead concentrating on the road and the hunter was far in front on his horse. Behind them came the wagon with the cage and the three prisoners. As she passed by Biter hissed at her and Rorge actually tried to smile but it made him look more hideous with the hole where his nose should be.

"Little boy," he said. "Be a good lad and open our cage, eh? That black crow is sleeping now. We'll just run away and he don't need to know a thing about it till after, eh?"

Arya shook her head. "Why should I help you? You're criminals."

Now Rorge snarled. "You know what I'm in here for? Rape and murder. Women, little girls, even a little boy like you. Nice and fresh, that's the way I likes 'em. And then I cuts off their noses and guts 'em."

Arya shuddered and her left hand went to Needle without even thinking of it. "Think I'll let you out of the cage after you told me that?"

Rorge snarled at her and reached through the bars trying to grab her but she was too far away.

"The boy is too smart to set us free," said the one with red and white hair she heard was called Jaqen H'ghar. "The boy has sense. You are called Arry, yes?

Arya nodded and the strange man was about to speak again when there came a shout.

"Hey, boy!" yelled her father from the first wagon. "Get away from that cage!"

Arya kicked her donkey again and trotted up to her father's wagon on the left side. He was mad she could see right away. "Yoren told you to stay away from that lot," he said in a low voice, eyes staring intently at her. In all her years Arya had never seen or heard about her father hitting any of his children, including her. She had gotten a few cuffs behind the ear from her mother and more than a few from Septa Mordane. But now he looked like he wanted to hit her and that scared her more than Rorge's noseless face. "You do as you're told. We're not playing a game here. You understand?"

"Yes," she said with downcast eyes.

His look softened. "This lot are not your friends," her father told her quietly, patiently. "All of them have crimes in their past, some of them very terrible crimes."

"Not Hot Pie or Lommy. They just stole a few things cause they were poor and hungry."

He raised his eyebrows for a moment. "Aye. Maybe not them. Or Gendry."

"Why is he… okay, I won't ask," she said after seeing his look. But Arya was confused. "But…you are friendly with them all. You tried to help them, tell them how to fight properly."

"Because we're in this together, so we need their help. But remember who you are and who they are."

"I will."

"Good."

"I can fight too, you know. Syrio taught me. That's why you hired him."

He sighed. "But I don't want you to fight."

"Is that why you told Gendry to take me away if there is a fight?"

He hesitated. "Aye, if it gets bad."

"Before you said we shouldn't run."

"Sometimes you have to run. Now go back with the other boys."

But Arya wouldn't let it go. "I think we're like a wolf pack. You once told me wolves stick together. Our pack should stick together like wolves do."

"And what should I tell your mother if I live and you don't? That you died fighting beside me like a grown man?"

Arya gulped. She never thought she would die. "No. But you have to run with us if it gets bad. I won't run without you."

He stared at her and then nodded. "Aye. Chances are nothing will happen. Go on, get back with the other boys."

After a short break at noon for a quick meal of cheese, bread, and dry salted fish, they rode hard the rest of the day. They soon left the forest and were in proper farming country. More and more people were coming down the road and all had the same tales of woe, running from war and outlaws. Now they began talking of a particular savage group, led by a tall man who rode a black and white stripped zorse. They were foreigners for the most part, said another frightened farmer, who escaped with his life but lost his herd of goats and field of corn. And his wife, who he had last seen being dragged off by the vicious men. He begged them to come help him save her, but Yoren told him it was most likely she was dead now and he would be too if he went back. The last they saw of him he was standing in the Kingsroad with tears coming down his cheeks. Arya saw her father's stern look and knew he was mad and it made her mad too, all these poor people caught up in the middle of all this.

Before long they came upon a burned out farm, and saw some bodies hanging from a tree in a field. The flies were buzzing around them and the stench as they rode past was terrible. After that, dead bodies and burnt fields and buildings became a more common sight. That night they stopped under the trees of an apple orchard and found an abandoned farmhouse. Inside they found nothing of any use, all the food and valuables gone. But they had a warm dry place to sleep for a change and ate apples with their supper of salt fish and mashed boiled pease, and finished the last of the barrel of ale. The bread was almost gone too so they made a fire in the farmhouse oven and Hot Pie set to work with the sack of flour they had and some water and by morning they had twenty round loaves of fresh bread. It was delicious and everyone complemented him on his skill as a baker. But the rest of their food was running low and it was still a long way to the Wall. She heard Yoren tell her father he usually stopped at Harrenhal to have a rest and get more provisions.

The next day in the morning the weather started fine but by midday it was raining hard and they got good and soaking wet. They made little progress, and that night they huddled around fires to get dry and warn off the chill. In the morning several recruits were sick and one was so bad he had to lie in a wagon all day, coughing and shaking badly. Two days later he was dead and Arya didn't even know his name. They dug a quick grave and buried him by the side of the road. His wasn't the only grave there.

By this time they were nearing Gods Eye, the massive lake which was in central Westeros. It was to the far west of the Kingsroad but was so big they could see it in the distance from a certain hill Yoren told them one morning. Sure enough, later that day they saw the lake as they came over a rise and stopped where a road branched west from the Kingsroad. They saw a shimmering expanse of water which filled the northwestern horizon.

"Is it the ocean?" asked Lommy.

"Gods Eye," Arya told him. "It's a lake."

"A big lake," Gendry commented.

"Harrenhal is near it, up north," Arya said.

"Harrenhal is full of ghosts," Hot Pie said in a quivering voice. They were about to move down the hill when the hunter came back riding hard. He had a quick talk with Yoren and her father up front and then Yoren stood on the wagon and shouted to all of them.

"There's a large party of men ahead, riding and they look like trouble. We'll head off the road west a bit and find a good place to lie low. Let's move!"

The road west was worse than the Kingsroad but this part of the land hadn't been touched by war yet. People were in their fields and by their houses in little villages. Many were armed with axes and sickles. Yoren stopped and traded news with the people and more than a few asked them if war was coming their way and Yoren and her father told them to be prepared to run at any moment. Yoren used the few coins he had left to buy some carrots and onions from one farmer but many didn't want to sell, worried about the war and coming winter.

They lay low in a small copse of trees for the night and next morning Yoren decided to lead the party up to the shore of Gods Eye and then skirt the shore towards Harrenhal. Or maybe they could get passage on a boat in a small town he knew about. A day and half later they came to the small town on the lake shore and it was abandoned. A careful search of the houses and a stone holdfast told them no one was left, except a few cats and dogs, chickens and a goose. There were also no boats.

They moved into the stone holdfast for the night. It wasn't a castle, but it had stone walls about ten feet high, and a strong gate, so it seemed safer than the wooden houses in the town. There was also a large barn and another building with a kitchen and a high tower in one corner. They put all the horses, donkeys, and wagons inside the barn, including the one with the three violent prisoners. In the barn they also found a trap door in the floor and a tunnel that led to the lake. That was their escape route Yoren told them all, in case of trouble. Yoren and her father set the guard, placing three men in the tower, including the hunter with his bow, and others on a wooden catwalk that went around the top part of the walls. They killed the goose and a few chickens and had a good meal as night fell.

Arya saw her father awkwardly climbing a ladder to the wooden catwalk to join Yoren up there and she soon followed him, quiet as a cat. She stood to the side as her father and Yoren looked out over the town and talked, neither of them noticing her in the dark.

"We should stick to the shoreline all the way to Harrenhal," her father said.

"Aye," Yoren replied. "No telling who or what is on the Kingsroad now. Lady Whent always showed a kindness to me and will take us in. Should be able to top up our supplies as well."

"I was there a long time ago," her father said. "The year of the false spring, when there was a grand tournament at Harrenhal." He spoke in a tone of longing, as if he remembered something special. Arya had never heard him talk about this before. Then his voice turned harsh. "But Rhaegar Targaryen ruined it all. He named my sister the queen of beauty during the tournament."

"Aye," said Yoren. "I've heard this story once before. He was married to Elia of Dorne at the time, wasn't he?"

"Married, aye," her father said. "It caused a scandal. Robert was in love with my sister and…" But then he stopped and seemed to be staring hard in the distance. "Someone's in the town."

Arya looked out and could see some pinpricks of light coming closer and then she heard the clop of horse hoofs and the shouts of men. They were carrying torches and were moving from house to house, and the men were getting off their horses as if searching for something. Arya couldn't tell how many were out there, but it seemed like much more than they had.

Yoren turned and was startled to see her but quickly shouted an order. "Boy, roust the rest and get them on the walls. We may have trouble."

Arya swiftly climbed down the ladder and started shouting to the others to get out and get armed. In minutes they were all up and mounting the wall with whatever weapons then had. Arya stood by her father and Yoren again as the torches began to converge on the holdfast. The men had some banners that looked red but in the dark it was hard to see. Two of them tried the gate but it was barred shut.

Yoren yelled at them. "The lord is gone and we're just staying the night. Who's calling?"

A big man in chain mail sitting on a big warhorse rode up and now they could see the Lannister banner in another horseman's hand. "I'm Ser Marcus Lefford," the big man shouted. It was hard to tell what his face looked like in the dark and with his helmet on. "Who am I addressing?"

"Yoren of the Night's Watch. I got a party of recruits and we're hold up here for safety for the night. We'll be on our way in the morning."

"That's the bastard crow," came a voice and out of the darkness rode the gold cloak officer from the inn.

"Aye, it is. You back for more, are you?" Yoren said as he spat over the parapet. "The bastard you wanted ran off after you left the inn so he ain't with us no more."

"Then we'll just take a look inside and see who's here," said the gold cloak officer.

"I think not," Yoren replied.

"I command you to open the gate in the name of King Joffrey," Ser Marcus ordered.

"We got nothing to do with your kings and wars," Yoren told him.

"Open the gate or we'll burn you out!"

Now Arya's father shouted down to them. "Ser Marcus, you know me. I am a man of honor. I say the boy is gone, he is gone." It was a lie, Arya knew. Gendry was kneeling right beside her wearing his bulls head helmet and carrying his big hammer.

"Eddard Stark," said Ser Marcus. "Yes, I know you are a man of honor. Or at least you were until you tried to take the Iron Throne. But that matters not now. You are just the man I'm looking for. The Queen has commanded you be brought back to King's Landing."

Arya felt a shock run through her. They want to take him back! They're going to kill him!

"What does the Queen want with me now?" her father asked in a calm manner.

"I follow orders, I do not question them," Ser Marcus said. "These men of the gold cloaks say you and your party threatened them and refused to hand over the bastard boy. If you and the bastard boy surrender peacefully we will let the rest go. If you resist all will die."

There was silence for a moment and her father stood there. He looked around and he saw her, smiled slightly and then turned and shouted down to Ser Marcus. "I have your word on that?"

"You do."

Some of the recruits around Arya were muttering "no" and "don't surrender" but none shouted it.

Her father looked over the wall and down at Ser Marcus. "Thing is, Ser Marcus, you are a sworn bannermen for the Lannisters. Cersei ordered you to bring me back to the capital. So I can hang? So Ser Ilyn Payne can cut my head off? Or are you to cut my throat after I surrender?"

"I was told no harm would come to you."

"All Lannisters are liars, including the Queen and her bastard son the false king."

That brought another shock to Arya and everyone started muttering. Joffrey…a bastard? False king?

"Such talk is treason, Stark!" said Ser Marcus angrily.

"I'm already branded a traitor so what of it," her father answered. "And it is no treason to tell the truth. I trusted the word of other men recently. They betrayed me. So I don't think I will be trusting your word."

"Then the deaths of these men will be on your head!" said Ser Marcus in rising anger and just as he raised his hand to give a command an arrow flew out of the dark and hit him in the right shoulder, driving through his chain mail and knocking him from his horse. "Kill them all except Stark!" he shouted from the ground and the battle was on.

Torches and spears started sailing towards them from the darkness. One recruit on the wall took a spear through the face and died in an instant. Several men started pounding on the wooden gates with heavy axes while other men started climbing the rough stone walls. Arya drew out Needle and was all set to fight when her father was there grabbing her. "Go! Now!"

"No!" she yelled. "I'm going to fight!"

"Get her away!" her father shouted to Gendry who was behind her.

"I won't leave you!" Arya screamed as the noise of battle grew louder.

"They won't kill me, sweet child, but they will kill you and Gendry. Now run!"

Torches were sailing over the walls and into the thatched roofs of the barn and the other building. More arrows sailed from the tower and more screams came. Tears filled her eyes and then Gendry was grabbing her and picking her up. She struggled and cursed him but he leaped from the wall with her in his strong arms. The wall was only ten feet high but he landed badly and they stumbled.

Arya rolled and got to her feet quick as a cat and then there was a man right in front of her, one of the gold cloaks, landing after leaping from the wall. But his back was to her and his eyes were on another target. "There's the bastard!" he shouted and he swung his sword at Gendry, who was still clumsily rising to his feet. The sword hit the helmet but it was well built and took the blow, although Gendry was dazed and fell to the ground again. Before the gold cloak could strike once more Arya screamed "_Winterfell_!" and stabbed him in the back. Needle went through his cloak and punched into his mail and the man screamed and dropped his sword and fell to the ground clutching his back. Without hesitation Arya stabbed down and Needle went through his eye and into his brain and he was dead. She was dizzy with battle fever, her heart racing, her thin body as strong as it ever was, and she felt like she could kill every Lannister and gold cloak in the Seven Kingdoms.

"Come on!" she yelled as she helped Gendry up. Then a Lannister man was there and Gendry smashed him in the face with his hammer and the man went down, his nose smashed in and his teeth in pieces. Two bodies fell from the wall and it was Lommy, entangled with a Lannister man and Arya and Gendry fell on him and killed him before the man could stab Lommy with his dagger. As Gendry helped Lommy up, she looked around for Yoren and her father and they were on the wall, Yoren stabbing a man through the stomach with his long sword and her father stabbing one under the ribs with his dagger. But the man didn't die, and as he screamed he grabbed her father and the weight of the man's body took him and her father over the parapet and outside the stone holdfast. As her father disappeared over the wall Arya screamed in horror.

"NOOOOO!"

Gendry had seen it happen too and he gasped. "They got him!"

Arya shouted at him. "Open the gate! We have to save him!" Gendry tried to do as she asked and was running to the gate but then she heard a scream of "_Hot Pie_!" and Hot Pie fell from the wall with a gold cloak in his fat arms and the two of them hit Gendry and the three of them landed on the ground in a tangle. Hot Pie's plump body landed on the gold cloak and knocked the wind out of him. The gold cloak gasped and tried to rise but Needle went through his throat and he didn't move again. As Gendry and Hot Pie started to stand, Arya looked around. The air was filled with smoke and fire and screams and dead bodies, and then Yoren was there in front of her.

"Go! Get out! The lot of you!" he yelled.

"He's outside the wall!" she yelled back.

"They won't kill him! But they will kill you! Go!"

"Come with us!"

"Run!"

Gendry was up and he grabbed Arya and Hot Pie ran too and Lommy came with him. Both looked unhurt. Arya screamed once more for her father as Gendry dragged her and then they were in the barn. It was on fire and the donkeys and horses were screeching and the din was awful. Lommy used a knife he had to cut the horses and donkeys loose and they were soon running from the barn in terror.

"Boys, lovely boys!" shouted Jaqen from the wagon with the cage. "Let us out! A man can fight!"

"Open this cage you fucking bastards or I'll rape you in hell!" Rorge screamed. Biter shook the cage violently, his eyes wide in fear.

Arya hesitated as Gendry opened the trap door in the barn floor. The barn was on fire and it was hot and smoky. She stared at Jaqen. "I'll let you out but you have to help me save my father."

"A man agrees," Jaqen said quickly. He didn't even ask her who her father was.

"Gendry, smash the lock with your hammer!" she yelled. He hesitated and Hot Pie whimpered from where he was standing in the hole in the floor, with Lommy sitting beside him.

"Go!" Gendry yelled to them. "We'll be right behind you!" Hot Pie and Lommy disappeared down the hole as Gendry smashed open the cage lock with two strong blows from his hammer.

Jaqen leaped out as best he could with manacled hands and feet and started heading for the trap door. "Wait!" Arya screamed. "My father is outside the walls! The Lannisters and gold cloaks have him! They're going to take him to King's Landing to the Queen. She'll kill him!"

"Lovely boy, the Red God is all around us, asking for payment," Jaqen said patiently. "We must go now and save a boy's father another day."

"Fuck his father!" Rorge yelled as he awkwardly climbed from the cage with Biter right behind him. "Let's go!"

"A man's companions are not coming," said Jaqen and before she knew it Needle was out of her hands and in Jaqen's and then Rorge screamed as Needle drove through his heart. Biter snarled and leaped at Jaqen but in an instant Needle was in his neck and coming out the other side. Biter collapsed next to Rorge, choking on his own blood and then Jaqen handed Needle back to Arya.

"These two would have been trouble," he said to her shocked look and then he followed Gendry down the hole in the floor. Arya heard a scream and looked behind her and out in the holdfast courtyard Yoren was dieing. Bodies surrounded him but three more Lannister men were stabbing him with spears as he slowly sank to his knees. Arya gasped and blinked away her tears and as she dropped into the tunnel the barn ceiling began to collapse around her.

Arya shimmed her way down the tunnel and found the others waiting for her by the lake. Gendry was trying to pound the manacles off Jaqen's feet, and after a few minutes he managed to part the chain so Jaqen could walk faster. "A man's manacled hands will have to wait," Jaqen said. "It is time to move."

"But…my father." Arya protested.

"Who's your father?" Hot Pie and Lommy asked almost at the same time.

She hesitated, but Jaqen spoke first. "Who the boy's father is of no matter for now. We must go. This man does not want to be in an iron cage anymore. Those who attacked will come looking when the fire dies. But they have who they want so maybe they will not look so hard."

"Where will we go?" Gendry asked.

"Away from here," Jaqen said.

Arya snarled at him. "You're going to leave us, aren't you?"

Jaqen stared at her and his eyes had a kindness and a burning intensity at the same time. "Lovely boy, a man has made a promise. A man has a debt to pay. A man will not abandon you until your father is safe."


	7. Chapter 7 Bronn

**Ned Stark Lives! Chapter 7 Bronn**

"What a fucking stench!" Bronn exclaimed as he waded through the sewers of Harrenhal. He was waist deep in the muck, holding his fighting dagger in one hand and a lantern in another. All he could think of besides the smell was how he was going to kill Tyrion Lannister if he ever got out of here alive. The walls are too high for ropes and grappling hooks, the Imp had said. The gate is too strong to rush it, he said. Wait, I got a brilliant idea in my fucking dwarf sized brain. "The sewers!" he said. "I was in charge of the sewers of Casterly Rock. They drained into the sea, so the sewers of Harrenhal must flush all the shit and muck into the north end of Gods Eye. A small party of men could get inside and up and open a gate before anyone knew they were in the castle. And Lady Whent has few people inside her stronghold so there won't be that much shit and piss."

Bronn told him to go fuck himself, and Timett and Shagga had said they would cut their own cocks off and feed them to Lady Whent's goats before they would go into the sewer. Ser Jason hadn't said a word, and Bronn could see on his face that he feared to go under the castle into the shit filled sewers. It was only when Tyrion himself said he would do it that Bronn finally relented.

"You're a fucking dwarf," Bronn exclaimed. "You'll drown in two feet of shit before you get two feet in the sewers. If I do this, I want a castle and a lordship when all this is done. And not some pissy little pile of stones, a proper castle, somewhere nice, and with a high born lady as my wife to suck my cock every night."

"Done," said Tyrion without a moment's hesitation. Bronn grinned. Oh, he _knew _the little shit would do all he could to make that promise come true, cause he was a Lannister and all Lannisters paid their fucking debts. He had paid Bronn well enough until now, in coin, food, wine, and women. Well, not so much the coin yet, since they hadn't come across any chests of Tyrion's gold in his father's camp. But it was promised and a promise from a Lannister was worth more than a promise from most men. Fighting as the Imp's champion in the Vale may turn out to be one of the best decisions Bronn had ever made. But he also had a fear that someday he might regret it when the Imp's tongue got him in more trouble than Bronn or the rest could get him out of. Oh well, enjoy life while you can.

"My lord," Ser Jason bristled. "This man is a common sellsword. He is rude to you and my men and you promise him a castle and a lordship?"

They were on a hill, far outside of Harrenhal, looking down on the castle in the late afternoon. It had taken them four days to get here across difficult terrain and all were tired and saddle sore. The castle before them was truly a monstrous thing, stout and formidable. Even with it's walls and towers broken and topped by stone melted by dragon fire it still had the highest walls and strongest gates of any castle in the land. Bronn took one look and before he could say it Tyrion had voiced his thoughts and said the walls were too high.

"What about a ruse? Try to rush the gates when they open them," Bronn had suggested.

"No," Tyrion said right away. "There is nowhere to hide close enough. The land in front of the gates is flat and open. Besides, how will we get them to open their gates? Lady Whent is sworn to Riverrun and no doubt she knows that we are at war with Riverrun. Everyone in the land knows what I look like, Ser Jason and his men are in Lannister colors, and you and the hill tribesmen would hardly be welcome as weary travelers. I could sing Lady Whent the 'Rains of Castemere' and hope she gets the point, but I doubt it would work. Her castle is already in ruins. However,…" And that's when he mentioned the sewers and the argument had begun.

After Ser Jason's comment about Bronn, Tyrion stared at the knight with his mismatched eyes. "This man has saved my life, Ser Jason, and may do so again in the future, so I allow him a little leeway as far as curtsey goes. And I don't see you volunteering to wade through shit for me."

Ser Jason took a deep breath. "It would be my honor to go into the…"

"Don't need you," Bronn said curtly, cutting him off. "You fight from a horse with a lance. Not much call for that sneaking into a castle."

Ser Jason glared at Bronn. "Are you questioning my honor?"

"No," Bronn told him. "Just telling it like it is. Why do all knights get the wind up their arse when someone tells them they can't do something?"

"Now look here…"

"Enough!" Tyrion commanded. "The enemy is there gentlemen." He pointed at the castle. "Bronn will lead a party into the sewers by the lake shore. We will gather here and charge down to the gates when he opens them. How many you think to take in your party, Bronn?"

"Don't need a party," Bronn answered. "Too many makes too much noise. Me and one or two others should be enough. Some to kill the guards while one opens the gate." He looked at Timett. "Not you, too big." He looked at Shagga and the big mountain man laughed. "Shagga does not swim in shit."

"I'll go," came a small voice behind them.

Tyrion stared at his squire. "Pod, you don't have to do this, there are other…"

"Yes, my lord. But I still want to go. My lord."

Tyrion looked at Bronn, and Bronn nodded. "Fine, we'll go, just the two of us."

"Take a lantern," Tyrion advised. "When the gate is open signal us with the lantern."

Bronn and Podrick left soon after. As the light was fading they circled around to the west on foot, Pod carrying an unlit lantern. The land was hilly and tree covered, offering good cover. There were no farms this close to the castle, no villages, and therefore no nosy people about which suited Bronn fine. Harrenhal was cursed, the smallfolk believed, and none dared live in its shadow.

Bronn silently cursed to himself as they worked their way along a small stream that fed into Gods Eye. He had no idea where the sewers were and looking in the fading daylight would not be easy. On his left was the bulk of Harrenhal, looming above all else, its black walls staring at them. Bronn just hoped there were no real eyes up there staring back.

They reached the shoreline of the lake as the sun set and Bronn cursed their bad luck. The castle walls were well back of the shore, not directly on it, and there was a long wharf jutting out into the lake. In the fading light he could see no boats there or guards.

"Come on," he told Pod in a low voice. "We'll take a walk along the shore, but nice and slow. Look for any openings in the rocks."

It was not sight that directed them to the sewer openings but the smell. Bronn smelled it first and then Pod did. It was dark by then, and he was thinking about risking lighting the lamp so they could see better when Pod gasped and Bronn turned, ready for a fight. But instead of seeing Pod with his throat cut open Bronn saw him gazing up at the sky. "What is it?" Pod asked, pointing up. Bronn looked up as well and saw a red streak across the darkening sky.

"Not a clue. But it will light our way well enough."

Soon they found the river of foul smelling sewer water as it made its way into the lake. A channel about twenty feet wide had been dug through the rocks and sand over the last 300 years, as the shit and piss and dirty bath and dish water had made its way from the great castle. They followed the channel inland for about fifty yards and came to an opening made of bricks with a gate barring it.

"That's not good," Bronn said as he pulled on the bars. They wouldn't budge. "Oh well, we tried. Guess we'll have to move on without taking Harrenhal."

"Wait," Pod said. "The ground has worn away under the gate. I think I can squeeze through."

Bronn sighed. The boy was too eager to please and was going to get them both killed. "Right. Give it a try."

Five minutes later Pod had slipped through and there was nothing for it but Bronn to try as well. It took him a bit longer, and the smell was driving him mad, but soon he had wriggled through and was on the other side. Both of them were slimy with the dirty water and mud.

"I think a bath is in order after this," Bronn commented as they made their way into the brick lined sewer tunnel. The water was flowing in a small trickle and was only ankle deep here. The tunnel sloped up, the slope allowing the waste of Harrenhal to flow to the lake. Pod lit the lantern and soon they were moving up the slope, Bronn with the lantern in one hand and his fighting dagger in the other, Pod behind him with a short sword drawn.

Ten minutes latter they came to a junction with three tunnels, one going straight, one left and one right.

"Which way?" Bronn asked.

"The water flows most from the tunnel in front," said Pod. "I bet that's where most of the people live."

Bronn looked at him. "Not so stupid, are you?"

Pod gulped. "No, my lord."

"I'm no lord," Bronn snorted. "Not yet."

"Yes, my…yes."

Bronn moved forward into the tunnel in front of them and Pod followed. As they walked the stench grew, the water got deeper, and then they saw the first rats. Rats were nothing knew to Bronn, he had seen enough of them in his life, on the farm where he had been born, in the sieges he had taken part in as a sellsword, on both sides of the siege lines, and in the few ships he had been in. But like Harrenhal, something about these rats were monstrous. They were huge and their eyes glowed eerily in the lantern light before they scurried away.

"Big," Pod whispered and Bronn nodded. After another fifteen minutes of walking, Bronn stepped and suddenly there was nothing under his foot. He stumbled forward and his feet dropped a bit and then he regained his balance and he was in waist deep foul sewer water. That's when he cursed out loud about the stench and thought of a hundred ways to kill Tyrion.

"What a fucking stench!" he exclaimed. Pod stepped careful into the deeper part beside him and in the lantern light they could see they were in a round shaped junction and sewer water was coming in slowly from several smaller openings above them. Bronn was about to curse again, thinking they would have to crawl on their hands and knees down one of these foul openings when he spotted the steps of a stone ladder carved into the stone of the rounded wall. It went up and there was a narrow grate in the ceiling.

"What is it?" Pod asked as he peered up in the semi-darkness.

"The way out," Bronn said with relief. "Hold this." He handed Pod the lantern and then Bronn sheathed his fighting dagger, moved to the stone ladder and climbed up. The stones were slick and he was covered in shit smelling slime, but he slowly made his way up about twenty feet and soon had his hands on the grate. Bronn couldn't see anything but darkness above the grate. Slowly he pushed and it came open easily. Bronn stuck his head up the square opening and after a moment realized the grate led to a small stone room. He climbed up, and pulled his dagger and stayed crouched for a long minute, listening, waiting…but nothing happened. As his eyes adjusted to the light he saw a door with a handle. He tried it and it opened slightly. He quickly closed it, called to Pod to come up. The boy had a harder time trying to climb with the lantern and almost slipped twice, but he was soon high enough to hand Bronn the lantern, which he quickly blew out as Pod climbed up the rest of the way.

"What is it?" Pod asked in a whisper.

Bronn shrugged. "Don't know. Maybe a way to reach the sewers to clean them or unplug them if they get blocked up. Let's have a look about the neighborhood."

He slowly opened the door and they came out into a dark hallway. It was long and many doors led off from it. Bronn silently cursed again. Harrenhal was massive, both outside and inside. It had hundreds of bedrooms, halls, kitchens, stables, storage rooms, and many, many other rooms. But it was also eerily empty. They slowly made their way in the darkness, trying doors that always led to empty rooms. They found another corridor and then another and just as Bronn thought they were hopelessly lost, Pod nudged him.

"I see a light."

Bronn looked in the direction Pod pointed and there it was, a torch on a wall down a side corridor. A torch meant a way out. But it also meant people lived here. Bronn drew his dagger and Pod took out his short sword. They quietly made their way and soon saw more torches on the walls. After a while they turned down another corridor and there at the end they saw an opening. It led to an inner courtyard. No one was about.

Bronn was just about to cross the courtyard when he heard a cough. He froze and looked up and there on the wall in the light of the red streak in the sky he saw the silhouette of a man with a spear. Then he saw another, and then a third off to the right. As his eyes got used to the light he saw directly opposite them a small gate, big enough for two men or a man on a horse but not much else. A fourth man with a spear was there. It was a long way across that courtyard and there was no way Bronn could see him making it without someone seeing him. They could look for another gate, the main gate, but that would take time and they might run into more of Lady Whent's small garrison.

He turned to Pod. "Lad, you follow me, and you say nothing and do nothing. There's one guard on the gate and three on the wall above. We'll kill the gate guard, open the gate, you wave the lantern, then we guard the gate until the rest get here. Got it?"

Pod gulped and nervously nodded. "Yes, my…yes."

"Put your sword away," Bronn told him and then he and Pod sheathed their weapons. Without a second thought Bronn started walking toward the gate. They were almost on the guard before he noticed them and the three on the wall made no sign they saw anything amiss.

"Hello friend," Bronn said to the gate guard.

"Who's there?" came the nervous answer.

"Humble workers for Lady Whent," Bronn said.

"Seven hells, what's that stench?" the guard said in a more relaxed tone

"Us," said Bronn. "Was unplugging the sewers and just on our ways to the baths. Could you direct us?"

The guard pointed off to the right. "Past the main gate and the forge, the big low stone building. And be quick about it before we all die of the stench."

"Many thanks. Say, my young friend and I was wondering what that thing in the sky is?"

Bronn pointed up, the man looked up and that was the last thing he ever did as Bronn's dagger slit his throat and he fell with a clatter before Bronn could catch him.

"They killed him!" yelled a voice from above and a spear whistled past Bronn's ear and slammed into the ground.

"The gate!" Bronn yelled to Pod as he ran forward. The gate had a heavy metal bar across it which they quickly pulled up and tossed aside and pushed open the iron gates. There was a long tunnel lit with three torches and at the end was a stout wooden door.

"Open it and signal the others!" Bronn shouted to Pod and as Pod ran down the tunnel, Bronn drew out both his sword and dagger and turned just in time to face the three guards that had been on the walls. The fight was brief as Bronn's sword skewered one through the throat and his dagger hamstrung another as he crouched under a spear thrust and cut the back of the man's leg. The man fell in agony and then the third one had a short sword out and he and Bronn traded a few blows before Bronn's sword bit deep where the man had no armor in the armpit of his left arm. He screamed in pain and then Bronn shoved his dagger into his throat and did the same for the one on the ground he had hamstrung.

Now he heard more shouts from around the castle and torches were coming their way. He turned and saw the gates at the far end opened but Pod was having trouble with the lantern.

"Hurry! We have company!"

There was no time to say more as several men rushed toward him. But in the narrow tunnel Bronn had the advantage as no more than one or two could come at him at a time. If they had been smart they would have flung spears at him or called for archers but they weren't smart and their blood was up so they drew swords and charged down on him, first two, then two more and by the time these four were dead the boy had done his job and Bronn heard the battle roar of Shagga and Timett with Ser Jason and his men not far behind. Shagga and Timett moved in front of Bronn and started swinging their axes, as more than forty Whent men at arms crowded in the tunnel in front of them. It was grim bloody work and would have lasted longer but Ser Jason's men had their lances with them and they thrust deep into the Whent crowd. Two men fell to lance thrusts, Shagga cut the head off a third with his big axe and Timett dropped another with a blow that took off his left arm. Then the Whent men lost hope and those in front started to panic and soon the whole lot of them were streaming back into the castle. Bronn and his companions cut and slashed their way among them and soon they were in the open courtyard. The fight was much briefer here as many Whent men yielded and Ser Jason's men had to protect them from the rampage of the wild men. Ten minutes later it was over. Two of Ser Jason's men were dead, four more wounded, and score of Whent men were dead or wounded, the rest prisoners. Tyrion and the rest of the men came in on horseback carrying lanterns and torches.

Tyrion looked down on Bronn and Pod, wrinkled his nose and grinned. "Well done. Was it worth a lordship?"

Bronn shrugged. "Won't know till I get it, will I?"

Tyrion laughed this time. "Well said. Now, where is Lady Whent?" He climbed off his horse and looked at the twenty or so captives they had who were on their knees in the courtyard. "Who is in command here?"

One man looked up. "I am, my lord."

"I am Tyrion son of Tywin of House Lannister. In his name I take command of this castle. My father's army will be here by the morrow. He would like to be honorably greeted by the lady of Harrenhal. So, where is she?"

"Gone, three days ago," the man said.

"Gone where?"

"She didn't say and we didn't ask, my lord. She told us to guard the castle and she would be back soon."

Shagga growled. "He lies Halfman. Let Shagga trim his nose and see if the truth comes pouring out of him with his blood."

"No," Tyrion said forcefully. "Take what plunder you want but do no harm to these people. If any man resists, kill him. But no unnecessary deaths. And no rape."

Shagga growled. "The Halfman takes the joy out of war, but we will abide."

They began to search the castle and before long secured most of the people. The castle was massive but there were less than two hundred people living here, and they occupied only a small section of the place. They rounded up the remaining soldiers, got a maester out of bed to tend the wounded on both sides, and secured the unwounded prisoners in some barred cells. They got the same story about Lady Whent that the man at arms told from the castle's maester. Lady Whent left three days ago, but no one who remained knew exactly why, not even the maester. Most of her staff went with her including her chief steward as well as her personal handmaids and guards and twenty other men at arms.

Again Shagga said he lied and threatened to bleed the man to get the truth but Tyrion again said no. They had need of a live maester, not a dead one, and he was only protecting his lady. Truth be told, Tyrion told Bronn when they were alone for a brief moment, he cared not for where Lady Whent went. But he knew his father would.

Not long after Tyrion called his commanders into a great hall with many hearths to discuss what to do next.

"We will stay the night," he told Bronn, Ser Jason, Shagga, Timett and the other leaders of the hill tribes. "Come morning we must get on the road again for King's Landing."

"We have wounded men, my lord," said Ser Jason.

"They will stay as will thirty of our men to await my father's arrival. We have more pressing business to the south."

"What business, my lord?" Ser Jason asked.

Tyrion smiled. "Why I am to become the Hand of the King. So it's to King's Landing we go."

Bronn frowned a bit. The Imp wasn't telling these Lannister men about Ned Stark. Not yet. Maybe not at all. He didn't trust them. So Bronn decided he wouldn't either.

After that was agreed to Tyrion gave orders for the cook to prepare a feast for his men. Their own baggage wagons caught up to them and passed through the main gate into the castle, and soon all were making preparations for the night.

Outside in the main courtyard Tyrion looked over at Bronn and Pod and sniffed and made a face. "I think supper will be not so pleasant with that smell in my nostrils."

"You know," Bronn said. "While I was wading through waist deep shit and piss I could think of nothing better to do than to hold your head under the filth and watch you drown."

Tyrion grinned. "A fit of madness took hold of you. If I drown you will never become a lord or get what gold I owe you."

"Aye," Bronn replied. "So it is."

"Cheer up, Bronn," Tyrion told him. "You are the man who took Harrenhal. Who else can say that?"

"Aegon the Conqueror," squeaked Pod. "My lord."

"Of course," Tyrion replied. "But he had three dragons."

Tyrion then bade a passing woman to show Bronn and Pod the baths and to have their clothing washed. Twenty minutes later Bronn sank into a nice hot tub full of soapy water, soaking out the stench of the sewers and the long hard ride he had been on since the Imp had been taken captive weeks ago.

After the stench was gone Pod and Bronn dressed in some clothing the woman brought them while their clothing was being washed. It was rough homespun breeches and long shirts, but it was clean and that was good. Their boots were cleaned by a young boy who then got to work on Bronn's leather armor, with Bronn's admonishment not to scrub too hard because he liked the armor dark and dull, so it did not reflect any light.

Supper was a magnificent feast in the great hall with many heaths, courtesy of the animal pens and storerooms of Lady Whent. They had roast beef, stuffed baked pig, roasted chicken, along with assorted vegetables, pies, cakes, good baked bread, and plenty of ale, beer, and wine. Bronn ate and drank his fill with Tyrion giving him and Pod many toasts for their bravery in taking the castle. But Bronn took a care not to drink too much because when a man was drunk he was at his weakest and that would not do in this time of troubles. A castle taken today can be retaken tomorrow.

After a guard was set and most of the men went off to find their beds for the night, Tyrion asked Bronn to find Shae and bring her to Lady's Whent's quarters, where Tyrion planned to spend the night. Bronn found Shae in the kitchens with a scowl on her face as she sat on a chair while the other servants they brought took to cleaning up, casting Shae dark looks. They all knew she was Tyrion's whore, but none dare say a word to her. Bronn was sure she had a knife hidden somewhere under her robes, ready to cut the first one who suggested she lend a hand scrubbing pots.

"He wants you," he said in a low voice and she smiled, stood and followed him.

"You were brave to go in the sewers," she told him as they walked across the courtyard. "Everyone is talking about it."

"Stupid, you mean, not brave," Bronn replied.

"Perhaps. But men will not say it was stupid."

"I don't give a shit what men say."

"What do you want?"

Tyrion had asked him that once. "I want to enjoy life," Bronn told her. "I don't want to kiss anyone's ass. I want to sleep when I want, fuck while I can, and fill my belly with good food and wine while I still can. The best way to do all that is to hitch my wagon to your lord and see where he takes me."

"He will take us to King's Landing. He will be Hand of the King. There is no higher position in the land, except for the king."

"Aye," Bronn said. "But the last two or three Hands didn't make out so well in case you didn't hear. Some of them died."

"Not Ned Stark."

"No, not him. Not yet. We have to find him before something happens to him."

"He told me," Shae replied.

"I'm sure he did. But keep it to yourself."

"He told me that as well. I can keep a secret."

"Good."

"What will we do with Ned Stark?"

"Bring him back here to his father."

"Tyrion hates his father," Shae said in a bare whisper.

"Most men hate their fathers."

"Why do most men hate their fathers?"

"Cause they stand in our way, or they have land or titles we want, or they told us 'no' or hit us one too many times."

"I thought it was because they fucked your mothers," Shae replied. "And you little boys couldn't stand the thought of your mother in bed with any man, even your fathers."

"Aye, might be something to that. But not for our little lord."

"Why not?"

"Cause when I was in the Vale I heard many stories about him from that bitch Lysa Arryn's men. Tyrion's mother died bringing him into this world so he never knew her." She said nothing and then they were at the entrance to the tower where Lady Whent's quarters were. "Now, off you go, up the stairs to the third floor, second door on the right."

The next morning after a leisurely breakfast they were all set to leave Harrenhal. Shagga and Timett and the other wild men and women were a bit sullen and angry. The plunder of Harrenhal had not been much. They found the coin room, directed there after threatening to cut the manhood off all of the prisoners, but the coin room had an immense iron door with several locks and Lady Whent's steward had taken the keys with him. No matter how much they pounded on the door or beat the locks they could not get in.

Before they could set off a drizzle began to fall that soon turned into rain so Tyrion delayed their departure for a few hours till the storm passed. That brought a sufficient delay so that the outriders of his father's army approached before they could set off again and within an hour Lord Tywin Lannister himself entered the great castle with his headquarters group and many guards.

Bronn sat astride his horse just behind Tyrion on his when Lord Tywin Lannister came riding in and headed straight for his son.

"Well done," Tywin said, a bit grudgingly, as he stopped his horse beside Tyrion's. "How did you take it?"

Tyrion grinned. "Bronn and Pod swam through a river of sewer shit to take the guards unawares and open a side gate. I promised Bronn a lordship some day for this great deed. Not a great lordship, but with a nice holdfast and a lady to marry and warm his bed, and some smallfolk to rule over. And perhaps we can make Pod a knight after he has squired for me long enough"

Tywin stared at Bronn, glanced at Pod, and gave a short snort. "If that's what you promised them then they shall have it. Why haven't you left to take care of this other business we discussed?"

"We were just about to leave."

"Then you had best be on your way."

Tyrion nodded. "Yes. But first what news of the war?"

"Nothing has changed since we last talked."

"And in King's Landing?" Tyrion asked next.

"Ravens are not trained to find an army on the marched," Tywin told him. He glanced around. "Where is Lady Whent? I expected her here to greet me on bended knee."

"Left four days ago according to her maester and others," Tyrion told his father. "Where, no one seems to know."

"They will soon be talking," Tywin replied and Bronn knew there would be torture here before nightfall.

"We had some wounded taking the castle," Tyrion was telling his father. "And we had two dead. There are also about forty prisoners in the cells. Lady Whent's men at arms. I was going to leave thirty of Ser Jason's men here…"

"Take all of your men," his father commanded. "We have sufficient force here now. If you have nothing else to discuss, you should be off. That other matter is most pressing."

"Of course, father. Fare you well."

Tywin grunted. "And you." And then he rode his horse past his son. Tyrion called Ser Jason forward and told him to get the rest of his men. Ten minutes later they were all mounted and soon Tyrion's small host was filing out the main gate as his father's much more massive host was coming in. Outside the Lannister army was already preparing defenses as the men were still marching over the hills toward the castle. Tyrion, followed by Bronn, Pod and Ser Jason, took the lead of his smaller group and turned to the rutted track that passed for a road leading east to the Kingsroad.

Bronn could see Tyrion simmering with rage and after a short while the two were riding alone with Pod not far behind as Ser Jason set his outriders and scouts.

"You would think he wanted me to fail," Tyrion said in a low, hoarse voice.

"Aye," said Bronn. "Not much for giving thanks, is he?"

"Never has been," Tyrion told him. "One day he sat me and Jaime and Cersei down and gave us his views on such things. They were already tall and blond and gorgeous and I was stunted and ugly and had not yet counted eight name days. But we were all Lannisters, his children. He spoke long on what was required of us and what our family name meant and how we had to uphold the house's honor and all that. 'Success is expected of a Lannister, and one should not expect gratitude for doing one's duty. Failure will not be tolerated and punishment should come quickly to those who fail you or thwart your purpose. Especially those who rise against you and yours.' Those were his exact words. I shall remember them to my last day."

"The Rains of Castemere," Bronn said and no further explanation was needed.

"Indeed. That is my father, in a nutshell. Oh, you will get your lordship when all this is over, if we win that is. But he will grudgingly give it to you, and expect you to bend the knee and offer him your loyalty in all his deeds and wars."

"Ah, well. You can't have everything perfect," Bronn said with a wry grin.

The next day they made the Kingsroad and the road was suspiciously empty of traffic. Soon they saw the first burnt out farmhouse, and then dead bodies by the road, people hanging from trees and smoke columns on the horizon that bespoke of more chaos. Tyrion had warned them they might run into men serving the Lannisters who were ruthless. They were to do nothing but pass them by. They had a bigger mission to accomplish and would not get involved in what these raiding parties were doing. None the less, Bronn could see how Ser Jason's men were uneasy with what they were seeing. The wild men and women did not care so much and once or twice Tyrion had to stop them from wandering off to check deserted farms for any hidden valuables. They had too much ground to make up for wasted side trips.

On the third day from Harrenhal they finally caught up with one of the raiding parties led by Ser Amory Lorch. Bronn didn't know the man but Tyrion and he seemed to have met before. The two columns met on the Kingsroad, Tyrion's heading south, Lorch's heading north. Tyrion told Lorch where his father was now. But it was Lorch's news that was the most intriguing.

"Two days past we ran into a party of gold cloaks and some of the Queen's men she had sent from King's Landing," he told Tyrion. "They had orders to find and bring Ned Stark back to King's Landing."

"And where were these valiant men of my sister's searching for Ned Stark, Ser Amory?" Tyrion asked.

"West of the Kingsroad, my lord," Ser Amory told him. "They had run into some small folk on the road that had seen a party of Night's Watch recruits on the road south of Gods Eye."

Tyrion thanked him for his news and bid them farewell. As the two columns passed each other, Lorch's men made jests about the women they had raped and plunder they took, and at the end of their column was a long line of wagons carrying grain and corn and vegetables, plus a herd of cattle, and many pigs and goats, with chickens and geese in cages. All bound for Harrenhal now, Lorch had said.

"That is how to fight a war," Shagga growled. "Halfman, let us go with them."

"Shagga," Tyrion said with a heavy sigh. "You are free to go as you please. But if you do not come with me you will not get all the gold and wenches I promised when we reach King's Landing."

"There is no joy in getting from you what one can take with an axe," Shagga grumbled and Timett and the others agreed but they stayed with Tyrion's group.

Now came the time where Tyrion had to tell Ser Jason about Ned Stark. He only nodded and said he was to do as Tyrion commanded and would follow him anywhere. As Ser Jason rode off to the front of the group, Bronn looked at Tyrion. "You knew he would follow you. Why the big secret?"

"There is a thing in warfare called a need to know basis. And he did not need to know that we were looking for Stark until now."

"Is there anything else I need to know?" Bronn asked.

"No."

"Would you tell me if there was?"

"No."

"Right. Off we go again."

They decided to cut across the land towards Gods Eye and then move south to make up time. Tyrion knew Yoren, the leader of the Night's Watch party, and told Bronn if he was wise Yoren would try to come up the west side of Gods Eye to avoid the danger on the King's Road.

The next evening after sunset they were still in the saddle trying to make for a small town the map Tyrion had showed was on the shores of Gods Eye. There were many grumbles to make camp but Tyrion promised them all warm beds and strong ale and wine and maybe even whores in the town if they pressed on. After cresting a small hill they saw fire in the distance to the west. A minute later one of Ser Jason's scouts came riding up hard.

"The town is empty," he said in a hurry. "But someone is attacking some people in the lord's holdfast near the lake."

They put their spurs to their horses and came thundering down into the town, drawn by the fire at the holdfast. It was blazing now and many men were outside it. The men near the holdfast heard the charging horses coming and started to mount their own horses and get ready for a fight. Ser Jason's men were all set to charge when Bronn's sharp eyes saw the banner in the flickering light.

"It's your bannermen!" he yelled to Tyrion as they reined up their horses. The two groups stopped and eyed each other warily.

Tyrion shouted to the men. "Who's in command here?"

"Ser Marcus Lefford," said one man on a horse holding a spear. "But he's wounded. Took an arrow."

"Bring me to him," Tyrion commanded. The man dismounted and started walking and Tyrion dismounted as well, followed by Bronn, Pod not far behind. There beneath the low walls of the hold fast a man lay gasping in pain as someone tried to pull an arrow from his shoulder. Around him were several dead bodies, some with arrows in them.

Ser Marcus looked up and in the light of the fire inside the holdfast his face shown agony and surprise. "Lord Tyrion?"

"Yes," Tyrion said. "What goes on here Ser Marcus?"

"Trying to find Ned Stark," he said, his face contorted in pain.

Now it was Tyrion's turn to show surprise. "Stark is here?"

Ser Marcus nodded. "We got him. But that crow bastard refused to open the gates to give him to us. And the bastard boy."

"What bastard boy?"

"The one the gold cloaks said the King wanted killed."

Tyrion sighed. Joffrey up to some fool thing or another. "Start from the beginning."

In two minutes he had most of the story. Not all the details but the gist of it. "Where is Ned Stark now?"

"Over there," Ser Marcus said, nodding towards a small house. "I need a maester."

"Unfortunately, we didn't bring one," said Tyrion and he turned and there was Pod, who was standing right behind them the whole time. "Pod, find Ser Jason. Tell him to set guards and make camp here for the night, in the houses if possible. Look to the wounded and get supper ready as well." Tyrion then looked at the men helping Ser Marcus. "Get him inside that building. Now."

The knight screamed in agony as they lifted him and soon he was in the small house with Tyrion and Bronn right behind him. They carried Ser Marcus off to a bedroom Tyrion guessed and closed the door behind them. In the small kitchen a few lit candles were on the table and there sitting at the table with his hands tied with rope was Ned Stark, with a guard right behind him.

Stark was heavily bearded, dirty, smelly, and had blood trickling from a cut on his cheek. His eyes were tired and bloodshot. When he looked up at who had entered the house his eyes widened slightly. Then he grinned and almost seemed to chuckle. "Imp," he said and Tyrion winced a bit, and Bronn knew he never really liked this nickname. "The gods have been good," Ned Stark said next. "To bring my enemy to my table."

"Someone else's table," Tyrion quipped. "And I am not your enemy."

"No? The man who tried to kill my son is not my enemy?"

"A falsehood," Tyrion declared. "Which I shall address shortly. But…"

"All Lannisters are liars," Ned Stark said curtly. He looked at Bronn carefully. "You're not a Lannister man. What did he promise you for your sword?"

"A lordship," Bronn said with a pleased smirk.

Ned Stark snorted. "Aye. Maybe you will get it. All Lannisters pay their debts. So do Starks, eventually."

As that hung heavy in the air Tyrion sat in the chair opposite Ned Stark. "We have much to discuss, you and I, Lord Stark."

"Piss on you, Imp. May the Others take you."

Tyrion sighed. "This is starting badly. Let us leave the matter of your son's attacker aside for the moment. I have other matters of great urgency to discuss with you. Matters of state, relating to your son's army. I am here to speak on my father's behalf."

Stark said nothing but nodded slightly.

"Good," said Tyrion. Then he looked at the guard behind Stark. "You may leave us."

The man stiffened. "Ser Marcus said…"

"Get out," Tyrion said in a low growl. "I am in command here now."

"Yes, my lord," the man said in a hurry and then he was gone.

"Do you always have trouble getting people to follow your orders?" Stark said in a mocking way. "I suppose it's because they still see you as a little boy. But I know you are a ruthless man."

Tyrion shrugged. "Ruthless as I need be. Now, to the matter at hand. My father commands me to find you and bring you to him."

Stark almost laughed. "He's too late. The Queen commanded this lot to find me and bring me back to King's Landing."

"That is moot now," Tyrion told him. "I have the larger force. Ser Marcus is like to die of that wound unless treated properly. And I am a lord and a son of Casterly Rock while he is just a knight. We will go north and find my father."

"Then what?"

"You will be sent under a peace banner to your son's army at Riverrun and…"

Stark look startled. "Robb's at Riverrun?"

"He doesn't know," Bronn said.

"I've hear rumors," Stark told them.

"Oh, yes, you have been on the road where few ravens find men to give them their messages," Tyrion stated. "Your son's forces have taken control of Riverrun."

"And where is your father's host?"

Tyrion hesitated a bit, then spoke. "Harrenhal."

"Besieging it?"

Bronn grinned. "We took it. With just a few men."

Stark raised his eyebrows. "So Lady Whent is his hostage?"

"She is not at the castle," said Tyrion. "When we took it a week past at least. Now, as I was saying, you will go to Riverrun and negotiate a peaceful end to this madness with your son. My father will give you details of the terms to be discussed."

Stark stared at him. "And what of my daughter?"

Tyrion looked puzzled. "You mean daughters, don't you?"

Stark blinked rapidly and cast his eyes left. "Aye, daughters, Sansa and Arya." There was a lie there somewhere but Bronn did not know what it was, not yet.

"They will be traded with you for…my brother."

Now Stark was truly surprised. "The Kingslayer? What of him?"

Tyrion sighed heavily. "Your son's forces captured him about ten or so days ago."

Ned Stark grinned and then laughed, but then his laughter stopped and his face grew grim. "Do you think Robb will trade the Kingslayer for two little girls? You and your father are mad."

"Two little girls…and you," Tyrion said.

"And what guarantee do I have that you lot won't cut my throat or stab me in the back when it comes time to make a trade?"

Tyrion shrugged and looked at Bronn. "The man does not trust me or any in my family."

"He has good reasons not to," Bronn said. "Best get to that other matter now."

"Indeed," Tyrion answered. "But I talk better with a cup of wine in my hand." Bronn took the hint and opened the outside door. Sure enough Pod was right there waiting and Bronn told him to fetch wine or ale or something to drink.

"Now, Lord Stark I wish to make my case for my innocence in regard to your son."

"You may try," Stark said. "But I'm not like to believe you."

"Yes, well, there is naught I can do about that." A scream then came from the other room. Then silence. Tyrion looked to Bronn and he checked the other room. Ser Marcus was lying on a bed, pale, blood soaking the blanket, his right shoulder a mess. The arrow was out but blood was seeping too fast and his men were trying to plug the gap.

"He's done for," he told the men and not ten seconds later Ser Marcus breathed his last. His men dragged his body outside. "What are we to do with the dead?" one asked Tyrion.

"Wait till morning and bury them. Tell your men to get some supper and bed down for the night."

"Yes, my lord," the man said and he left.

Pod entered then and brought in a skin of wine and two cups. Soon Tyrion had a cup of wine in his hands. Stark refused to drink with him. "Talk, Imp, before I decide not to listen any more."

Pod left and Bronn leaned on the wall as Tyrion peered at Ned Stark. "Where to begin? I guess the dagger is a good enough place. I've heard it was a Valyarian steel and dragonbone hilt dagger. Rare, but not a one of a kind item. Your wife accused me of giving this dagger to a footpad who tried to cut your son's throat. And why would she think that I owned the dagger?"

Stark stared at him. "Someone told us it was yours."

"Ah, and who would that someone be?"

"Baelish," Stark replied without hesitation.

Tyrion stared at him and the silence was so long Bronn thought he hadn't heard. "Baelish," Tyrion said at last. "Baelish, who has loved your wife since they were children. Baelish, who, if the stories I heard are correct, betrayed you and had you imprisoned."

"Aye," said Stark. "That's what happened. You say the dagger is not yours?"

"I do," said Tyrion.

"It's Baelish's word against yours."

"Indeed. And what do I have to gain from trying to kill your son?"

Stark looked at him long and hard. "Nothing." Tyrion nodded but Stark continued speaking. "Unless you were helping your brother and sister hide their disgusting lie."

Oh, this is getting interesting. "Bronn…I think…" Tyrion started but Stark cut him off.

"No, let him stay," Stark said. "The whole realm will know soon enough. Stannis knows and he is not one to keep such a thing unsaid. You know too, don't you? You're a smart man I heard, like to read, to watch, to know. Varys is a smart man too and he knew a long time ago. You have known for a long time too I would guess."

Tyrion said nothing, but after a long moment he nodded once.

Stark's eyes were on fire now. "The day of the hunt, we all left Winterfell, you too. But not the Kingslayer and not the Queen. What did my son see? Why did he fall from that tower?"

"I have no idea," Tyrion said.

"But you can guess."

"Yes. But you may also recall I was on my way to the Wall when your son was attacked."

"Aye, Yoren said the same thing. Said you gave Bran a drawing of a saddle so he could ride."

"I did," said Tyrion. "Designed after one I had made for myself. Does this sound like the actions of a man who tried to kill the boy?"

Stark stared at Tyrion. "Yoren said the same thing."

"Where is he now?" Tyrion asked.

"Dead, I believe," Stark said. "Or run off with some others. I…I don't know where they all went. I was dragged over the parapet of the holdfast, then dragged here. No one has told me the fate of my Night's Watch companions."

"Yoren is a good man," Tyrion replied in a somber tone. "It would grieve me if he were dead. What was done here was ill done."

"Aye, it was. Some of those in the holdfast were just boys. Ser Marcus has been justly paid for his brutality and stupidity."

"Quite," Tyrion said as he sipped his wine. "Ser Marcus mentioned a bastard boy the gold cloaks were to kill or take back to King's Landing."

Stark nodded. "He's a good lad. If you ever find him and see what he looks like you'll know why Joffrey and your sister want him dead."

"Indeed," Tyrion said, his tone curious. "I can think of only one reason they would want a bastard dead."

"Aye," said Stark.

Now Bronn was confused. They were talking in riddles. What did a bastard have to do with all this?

Tyrion took a drink. "Let us get back to the other matter. Your son falls from a tower…"

"Or was pushed, by your brother or sister because he saw their crime."

Oh, Bronn said to himself. That's what is going on. Bloody Lannisters.

"Yes," said Tyrion to confirm it. "Or he was pushed. But the question remains why Baelish would tell you it was my dagger."

Stark sighed and then took the wine skin and filled his cup, awkwardly with his tied hands, and then he drank. "Baelish is playing his own game."

"The game of thrones," Tyrion said softly.

"Aye. Lies within lies within half truths and none with any honor, least of all your sister. Jon Arryn knew the truth and they killed him."

"Lysa Arryn thinks it was me," Tyrion said with a shake of his head.

"Not you," Stark said. "Your sister. Or the Kingslayer. Jon Arryn knew. I found out. I tried to do the right thing, for her children's sake. I told your sister I knew her children were bastards and she..."

"Bastards?" Bronn said in surprise. "How did you know that?"

Stark stared at him. "What is your name?"

"Bronn, just Bronn will do. I'm no ser or lord, not yet at least."

"Well, Bronn, if you had ever laid eyes on your lord's nephews and niece, you would see the blond hair as golden as any Lannister's. And if you ever laid eyes on King Robert's bastards you would see coal black hair and blue eyes, on all of them."

"How many?" Tyrion asked.

Stark shrugged. "Four I know of, including the boy that was here. I'm sure Varys knows the rest."

Bronn took the skin of wine off the table and drank from it, then wiped his mouth. "Let me get this straight. So Ser Jaime and the Queen is fucking…"

Tyrion winced. "Not so loud."

"Right. Anyways, so all King Robert's whelps is really the Kingslayer's whelps. So what's all that got to do with what happened to the little Stark boy?"

"Bran saw them," Stark said in a cold voice as he stared at Tyrion. "At Winterfell. Fornicating. Fucking. And they shoved him off the tower but didn't kill him so your lord Imp here paid a footpad to finish the job before Bran woke up and told everyone the truth."

"Not me!" Tyrion said again strongly, his eyes on fire now too. "I cannot say enough times I did not do this to your family!"

"If not you, then your brother or sister."

Tyrion sighed. "I don't know. And you are forgetting about Baelish, casting falsehoods for his own advantages somehow."

"Maybe he is. I owe him a debt already. Littlefinger will get what is his when the time comes."

Tyrion nodded. "At least we can agree on that much. But it seems I have failed to convince you of my innocence Lord Stark." He stood from the table and drained his wine. "We are going around in circles here. I am tired and hungry. We will leave for Harrenhal tomorrow. You will take my father's terms to your son."

"And then what?" Stark asked.

"Then if your son agrees, you and your daughters will be taken to Harrenhal or Riverrun or some other suitable spot, and an exchange will be made for my brother. Without anyone trying to slit your throat. And then you will continue your journey to the Wall once your son's army heads north."

"What if Robb refuses?" Stark asked next.

"Then may the Seven help us all," said Tyrion in a resigned manner.

"Winter is coming," Stark said in his grim way. "The realm will bleed. Then it will freeze and starve. Is all this worth it?"

"You will have to ask my father. He went to war because your wife kidnapped me for a crime I did not commit. He went to war to erase the stain of honor against our family. As for me, I'd sooner not go to war for any reason."

"Then help me end it," Stark said and Bronn actually believed the man wanted Tyrion's help. He had heard Stark was an honest and honorable man, but would he bed with his enemies just to save the realm and the smallfolk from what was to come?

Tyrion stood there staring at Stark. "How?"

"Tell your father what you know to be true. Tell him Stannis Baratheon is the true heir to the Iron Throne. Let him judge your brother and sister for their crimes. Let Ser Jaime take the black and let Cersei become a septa or a silent sister. Let their children return to Casterly Rock to be raised by your father. Let all armies go home and let us prepare for winter before it is too late."

It sounded good to Bronn. He already had a promised lordship. But Tyrion sighed. "If only it were that easy. My father, brother, and sister would never agree. Nor will Stannis Baratheon. He will see Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen dead. And you forget about Renly. No, we will have war somewhere. Who will survive, well, that is a question only the Seven may answer."


	8. Chapter 8 Eddard

**Ned Stark Lives! Chapter 8 Eddard**

Morning came and Ned Stark awoke on a narrow bed in the house where he and Tyrion Lannister had talked the night before. There was no blanket as that had been soaked through with Ser Marcus Lefford's blood, but it wasn't very cold and the mattress was reasonable soft. He was stretched out on his back with his arms and hands above his head. If only his hands hadn't been tied to the bed post he might have gotten a good night's sleep.

No, Ned thought, maybe not so good a night's sleep. He still did not know what had happened to Arya. The whole time the Imp had been talking Ned could think of nothing else but Arya. Well, almost nothing else. He had also wanted to leap across the table and smash the Imp's face in and choke the life out of him and then run screaming his daughter's name hoping to find her still alive. But the Imp's small army was outside and in the house was his sellsword, the man called Bronn, who had an insolent tongue and brash manner as well as a sword. Ned had never had much use for sellswords, who couldn't be trusted since they would often turn their cloaks for the right price. Maybe this one would turn his cloak. Then Ned thought, no, he and the Imp got on like two close friends, he would not turn. Besides, he had nothing to promise Bronn that the Imp could not match or double. Varys, in one of his visits to the black cells, had told Ned that the Imp had been released from the Eyrie after a sellsword had defeated Lysa Arryn's champion. Perhaps this was the man.

"Tyrion said to get you up," came a voice from the door and it was Bronn, in his dark clothing and almost black leather armor, with his sword and dagger at his side. He stepped toward the bed and cut the rope holding Ned's hands together with the long, sharp dagger. Ned sat up and rubbed his hands and let the blood flow back into them.

Bronn leaned against the wall. "Bet they'll hurt for a while."

"Aye," said Ned. "Did your lord also tell you cut me loose?"

Bronn shook his head. "No need to tell me. A man can eat better and use the privy better with his hands free. I'm not going to hold your cock while you piss or wipe your arse for you."

Ned had to grin. "Aye, I suppose not." Then his grin disappeared. "Bronn, answer me a question. Did anyone survive from the holdfast?"

"No."

Ned's heart beat faster and a lump formed in his throat so hard he found it difficult to talk. "No one?" His voice came out in almost a squeak. The sellsword stared at him in puzzlement.

"Yoren is dead, if that's who you're thinking of. The Imp and I went looking at first light. We found him with four dead Lannister men around him. Also, two dead gold cloaks were inside and a lot of those Night's Watch recruits. Some were supposedly in the small tower house loosing arrows, Ser Marcus' men said, but when we checked it this morning it was empty. Imp said they must have run off in the confusion. The barn roof collapsed and we found two more bodies inside there, both burnt as crisp as a roasted pig."

"Boys or men?"

"Men, next to an iron cage on what is left of a wagon."

"Aye," Ned told him. "Yoren said they were from the black cells in King's Landing, rapists and murderers."

"They take rapists and murderers in the Night's Watch?"

"If they didn't the Night's Watch would have a lot fewer men."

"Suppose so," said Bronn. "Come now. Lord Imp wants you to break bread with him in his tent."

Ned rose to his feet and Bronn waited as he walked slowly out of the room, still favoring his bad leg. The sellsword put his dagger back in its sheath and now he was close, close enough to knee in his manhood and then…but then Ned saw the two Lannister men in the kitchen area and gave up that idea. They took him to the house's privy first and after he was done a basin of water was placed on the kitchen table for him to wash up a bit. It was cold but it gave Ned a chance to wash his hands and face and feel more refreshed. After that Bronn and the two men escorted him to the Imp's large tent which was set up next to the house. As they walked he saw many Lannister men and also some large men and women in rough furs and leather clothing.

"Who are this lot?" he asked Bronn.

"Lord Imp's wild men. And women. Hill folk from the Mountains of the Moon," Bronn told him. "We ran into them when we escaped from the Vale. They were all set to kill us but Tyrion put that smart mouth of his to work and now they are our allies."

"Paid allies, like you."

"Aye," Bronn said.

"Did you champion him in the Eyrie?"

"I'm the fool. Your lady wife was not too pleased with that. I was on her side when we left the inn with the Imp."

"So you turned your cloak?" Ned knew he was like all the rest.

"Not really," Bronn replied. "Your wife promised me nothing. I went along just to see how it would turn out, maybe get something from it besides her thanks. I thought we were going to Winterfell. But she turned us to the Vale and the Mountains of the Moon. Never been there, wanted to see the Eyrie. Foolish of me. Almost cost me my life on three or four different occasions."

Hearing about Cat made Ned want to know every detail about what had happened in the Vale but he also wanted to know where this man's true loyalties lay. "So why did you champion the Imp?"

"You know what they say about Lannisters and debts. Besides, the little shit actually convinced me he was innocent."

"He talks long enough he'll have you believing he built the Wall and flew a dragon with Aegon against Harrenhal."

"Aye, he has that gift. Here we are."

They were at the tent door and the two guards stood outside as Bronn and Ned entered.

Inside, Tyrion Lannister was sitting at a small table with many dishes on it, dried fish, fried bacon, boiled eggs, jam, butter, and bread. The boy who had brought the wine the night before stood by, ready to serve. The Imp's squire, Ned guessed.

"Lord Stark," Tyrion said without rising as Ned entered the tent. "Welcome. Please sit and eat. You must be famished."

Ned looked at the Imp and still wanted to choke the life out of him. But he was surrounded and he was hungry and weak and so he sat and Bronn sat also.

"You have your sellswords sit and dine with you?" Ned asked Tyrion as he looked at Bronn grabbing a loaf of bread and tearing off a chunk.

"Bronn is more than a mere sellsword, Lord Stark," Tyrion answered.

"He told me he saved your worthless life in the Vale."

"On more than one occasion. My father promised to make him a lord after the war for crawling through the sewers of Harrenhal and taking the castle."

"I'd like to forget about that while I'm eating," Bronn said around a mouthful of bread. "The stink was unimaginable."

Tyrion looked to his squire, who then poured them all wine. Ned didn't want to eat with this enemy but he was hungry and he needed food to gain his strength. He took a piece of dried salted fish from a plate and then some bread and ate and sipped his wine as the Imp talked.

"Yoren is dead," he said to begin.

"I told him already," Bronn said to Tyrion.

"I want to see his body," Ned told Tyrion. "I want to see all the Night's Watch recruits' bodies."

Tyrion looked at him steadily. "Why?"

"I traveled with them, got to know them. I want to see how they died."

Tyrion gave him a suspicious look. "Is that the only reason?"

Ned was suddenly aware that they knew something he did not. "Yes," he answered and the Imp nodded, dipped his bread in bacon grease, ate and sipped some wine.

"You know, Lord Stark," he began after a few moments. "Bronn thought you told a big fat lie last night while we talked. You mentioned your 'daughter', not 'daughters', when we discussed trading Jaime for them. Why is that?"

"A slip of the tongue." A very stupid slip of the tongue, Ned now realized.

"I think not," said Tyrion. "A father would not forget he had two daughters, especially if he believed they were held prisoner in King's Landing. Was she here with you? Was she the one they called Arry? Arya Stark, lady of Winterfell."

"Arya is in King's Landing," Ned lied. "Your sister has her and Sansa." They knew. Somehow they knew Arya was with him, but he would not admit it.

The Imp smiled briefly, then grew serious. "Yes, I did believe that and my father still believes it, mainly because Cersei has not told us otherwise. But now I think I know the truth. You are too honest a man to make a good liar, Lord Stark. It so happens one of the recruits did not die. Took a blow to the head and woke up at the dawn. I have been questioning him about last night. He's a bit groggy but has not lost his memory. He said you and the rest were on the walls of the holdfast. He told us who was with you. He said the boy everyone called Arry was crying and screaming at you to let him fight, but you told him to run away. He said you told a big boy named Gendry to take him away and the boy leaped from the wall with Arry in his arms. He said this boy Gendry is the bastard the gold cloaks were looking for, and who, by the way, is not among the dead. Now why would you tell Gendry to take a little boy away from the fight? Unless it was not a little boy. Unless it was your daughter Arya, pretending to be a little boy."

Ned stared at him for a long moment and then he knew they had him. "Just tell me if she is dead or not."

"Not," said the Imp and Ned almost gasped in joy but held it in. "None of the dead is a small boy or girl at least. Bronn found a trap door in the floor of the barn. It leads to the lake. There were many footprints in the mud there plus some links from a chain, broken. Who was in chains?"

"The three men in the cage."

"Two are dead," said Bronn as he ate some crisp bacon.

"Which ones?" Ned asked him.

Bronn shrugged. "Bugger if I know. They're burnt bad I told you. Smell worse than the sewers of Harrenhal."

"Aye, but what do they look like? One of them had no nose, the second was going to fat and had sharp teeth and the third was a foreigner. He…"

"The first two," Bronn told him. "No nose and fat with sharp teeth. They're the dead ones. Outside the cage, but still in chains."

"So," Tyrion said as he sat back, smiled, and sipped some wine. "Your daughter and this third prisoner and maybe one or two others escaped, and I think this bastard Gendry the King wants to see dead is one of them. Now they are on foot. Where would they go?"

Now it was Ned's turn to smile. "Like I would tell you, Imp. Arya outsmarted that lot of fools in King's Landing, Cersei, Varys, the gold cloaks, the lot. She'll outsmart you, too. And your lord father."

Tyrion sighed in impatience. "I did not take you for a fool, Lord Stark. I am not trying to harm your daughter. I want to trade her for my brother. Your son will not give us Jaime for just you and Sansa. He will demand Arya as well. What are we to say to him? So sorry, we've lost her? He'll think we killed her and are trying to hide it. And there are worse things on this road than myself and Bronn here. Amory Lorch is plundering, Gregor Clegane is out there cutting a bloody path, Beric Dondarrion as well, plus a band of ruthless sellswords led by Vargo Hoat, a foreigner who does not care a fig about Westeros or its people as long he is paid well."

"Vargo Hoat?" Ned asked. He had never heard this name before.

Bronn spoke up. "Heard rumors about him in the Lannister camp. Has a goat for a sigil, talks in a funny way, has a bunch of foreigners from across the sea riding with him. And some scum from here. Likes to be called 'lord', the Lannister men said. Also likes to cut the feet and hands off his prisoners. He's a tall man, rides one of them funny horses from the east."

"A zorse," said Tyrion. "Black and white stripes. Apparently my father hired him and his so called Brave Companions to do a bit of plunder and forage. A mistake, I think my father knows now. The band is ruthless. If he finds your precious Arya first we may find her in bits and pieces."

Ned knew he was right. If Arya was on the road trying to hide, trying to make it to Riverrun or Winterfell, and ran into one of these bands, especially Hoat's, they might kill her without even knowing who she was. She had short hair, was dressed like a boy, even looked a bit like a boy. Even if she told them she was a Stark of Winterfell, who would believe her.

"Then help me find her first," Ned said, not believing he was throwing in his lot with the Imp but knowing he had no choice.

"Well, that is settled then," Tyrion said and he wiped his hands on a cloth and turned to his squire. "Pod, get the men ready to move in twenty minutes. We have a young girl to find."

"Do you trust your men?" Ned asked Tyrion after Pod had left.

"Of course," Tyrion replied.

"No, you don't," said Bronn as he continued to eat.

Tyrion sighed slightly. "Well, not entirely. Why do you ask?"

"My daughter and I would be worth a lot of ransom money to one of your men or any sellsword or your wildlings or this Vargo Hoat character. Best keep the fact that we're looking for her to as few people as possible."

Tyrion nodded. "Agreed. Bronn…"

The sellsword was up. "I'll tell the boy to keep his mouth shut." And then he left the tent. Ned Stark was alone with the Imp and his hands were free and there was a butter knife on the table.

He stared at Tyrion Lannister, his eyes intense. "I could kill you right now."

Tyrion raised his eyebrows and for a second Ned saw real fear there and then it was gone and Tyrion sighed deeply. "I did not hurt your son. I want to save your daughters. I want to end this war and go back to reading my books, fucking my whores, and enjoying being sneered at by all the lords and ladies of the land. I am trying to help you, you great big oaf. Can't you see that?"

"All I see is a Lannister," Ned said, his blood ready to boil in rage.

"The least of the Lannisters, as my father is happy to point out to me on occasion."

"Still a Lannister." The knife was right there. The Imp was small and weak and wore no armor. All it would take would be one knife thrust. But then he thought of Arya, thought of Sansa, and knew he would be dead and they would all be dead too if he killed this little monster. Ned breathed deeply and forced himself to calm down. He could not kill him, not here, not when so much was at stake. But he still wanted to do it. Then the sellsword came back and the chance passed and so did Ned's brief madness.

Ned knew Bronn sensed the tension in the tent as he looked from one to the other. "Did he try to kill you?" he asked Tyrion.

"He thought on it," Tyrion replied dryly. "But then reason prevailed. Perhaps in future I should not be left alone with him."

"Aye," said Bronn. "Everyone is getting ready to leave. That gold cloak cunt of a captain wants to come with us, said he still needs to find the bastard. King's orders and all that shit."

Ned snarled. "No harm will come to that boy or you can piss on any peace you want me to make with Robb."

"Fond of him, are you?" Tyrion asked. "Yes, he is your friend Robert's son, so I suppose that is not too surprising. I will deal with this gold cloak idiot."

"What about Ser Marcus' men?" Bronn asked next.

"Those unhurt will come with us, the wounded will stay here with a few men to help them. And may the gods help them if Dondarrion finds them. Now if there is nothing…"

Bronn spoke quickly. "Ser Jason wants to know if we are heading to King's Landing."

"King's Landing?" Ned said to Tyrion, feeling anger rising again. "You said your father is at Harrenhal. Or is that just another lie?"

"Haven't you heard?" Tyrion quipped. "I am to be the new Hand of the King."

"Acting Hand," Bronn added.

"Quite true," Tyrion concurred. "Until the war is over my father wishes me to take his place by Joffrey's side. As a previous Hand, I would dearly love to hear any sage advice you have."

"I'd tell you to turn it down, but then again maybe it's just what you deserve," Ned told him with half a smile on his face. "The position is cursed and hopefully you will come to a bad end like the rest of us have."

"You truly do despise me," Tyrion said and Ned could not deny it. "My father was Hand for almost twenty years and he still lives and prospers."

"Then he'd be wise not to try his luck with a second turn at it. The Hand does the king's bidding. But Joffrey is no king, as you and I both know. Even if he wasn't a bastard, he's a cruel little shit. I heard stories about him when I was in King's Landing. I thought it not possible for a son of Robert to be so cruel. But now we know he is no son of Robert. The realm should not have such a person as its leader."

"Perhaps not," Tyrion replied. "But he is king and I am to be his Hand, even if for a short time. No, we will find Arya first, we will go to Harrenhal, and then I will take my leave of you and head for King's Landing. And my part in this drama will be over."

"Not until I find out who really hurt my son."

Tyrion rolled his eyes and looked at Bronn. "He is not going to let this go."

"Would you?" Bronn asked.

"No, I suppose not. But then again I have no children so I am in no position to judge. Very well, Lord Stark. When the war is over you shall have your justice, or at least I will summit to a proper judgment before a neutral party, despite already being judged innocent by the gods through trial by combat in the Vale. Even your lady wife agreed to that outcome."

Ned sneered at him in disgust. "Spare me your promises. You and I both know there is no lord in the land who would risk your father's wrath by judging against you in a trial."

"I wouldn't bet on it. My father might actually pay them to do so. At the Green Fork he placed me in the most extreme position of danger. I actually believe he was hoping I would be killed in an honorable way, thereby sparing him from looking at me the rest of his life while he could say I at least upheld the Lannister name by dying in battle. But I survived, to his disappointment. Well, I do go on. It is time to ride. Bronn, we can find Lord Stark a horse I hope."

Ned now felt a slight embarrassment. "I can't ride properly. My leg was broken by your brother."

"Ah, yes," said Tyrion. "My father told me that tale. Jaime's blood does get up and then he acts before thinking enough. Then I fear it is the wagons for you Lord Stark. Not so noble, but we shall make you as comfortable as possible. I would not like to have to waste men to guard you, if I can trust your word not to escape."

Ned snorted. "You are taking me to my son's army and hopefully to find Arya. Why should I escape?"

"My thoughts exactly," the Imp replied.

"Where is Yoren's body?" Ned asked them, suddenly remembering something.

"Among those we found in the holdfast," Bronn told him. "Too many to bury so we're going to burn them."

"Not yet. He had a message from the Queen for my son. Perhaps it is still on him."

"Bronn have a look…after Lord Stark leaves."

Ned drained his cup of wine and stood. "I won't kill you, Imp. Not yet at least. Not till I know my children are safe and I know the truth about what happened to Bran."

"Why thank you, Lord Stark," the Imp replied theatrically. "See Bronn, he is not such a bad fellow after all."

"I never said he was a bad fellow," Bronn replied. "Now if you are done enjoying listening to yourself talk, we have work to do."

Bronn turned without waiting for a reply and waited for Ned to leave the tent. Ned almost laughed at the brashness of the sellsword. Most lords in the land would have his head off or at least banish him for talking like that. But not the Imp, who only chuckled, shook his head, and drank some more wine.

Ned turned without another word and left the tent, knowing Bronn was right and that the the Imp would keep him here all day talking just to hear his own voice being clever. They had to find Arya. She had a twelve hour head start on them at least. But she would have to sleep and eat and they were on foot. He just prayed to the gods old and new that she was safe. Gendry was with her and he was strong and honorable and would protect her. But he knew who else might be with with her. Jaqen H'ghar, the murderer. Did he go with them or did he run another way?

"Show me Yoren and the other two that were in the cages," he said to Bronn.

"This way," Bronn told him and they walked toward the holdfast. All around everyone was getting ready to break camp. Tents were coming down, men were coming out of houses, servants were putting out fires and gathering supplies. A string of horses and donkeys was nearby and Ned recognized them as the ones that had carried the Night's Watch group from King's Landing. At least someone had the sense to set them free when the barn was on fire. The gates of the holdfast were smashed in and Ned saw several Lannister men carrying bodies out and putting them in a big pile in front of the gate. Yoren was being carried by two of them.

"That's Yoren," he told Bronn.

"Hold there!" Bronn yelled to them and ran up as Ned slowly followed. "Put him down for a moment."

They laid him down and one of them spat on Yoren's body. "Fucking black crow! He killed five of our men!"

Ned stared at him hard. "Because you tried to kill him." The man looked like he wanted to say something else but then he and his companion turned away.

Ned bent to look at the body and saw at least five stab wounds in front and knew there were more in back. He started to look through his blood soaked clothing and didn't find anything but a few coppers and a silver stag. He handed them to Bronn and the sellsword took them and pocketed them.

"Scroll must have been on the wagon in his bag of clothes," Ned said.

"All the wagons are burnt."

"Show me."

They moved inside the holdfast and there on the ground were bloody stains where men had died. He wondered if Arya and Needle had done any of the cutting and then shook that thought away. He did not want his little daughter killing people. What man did? Little girls should play with dolls and puppies, not swords and dire wolves. Then again, Arya was of the north, and life was hard. Better to be ready for anything then die helpless. Winter was coming. Maybe it was already here.

The barn was still smoking a bit and had no roof. The two burnt bodes of Rorge and Biter lay by the remains of the metal frame of the cage and the axles and metal fittings of the wagons.

"If the scroll was in the wagons it's burnt," Bronn told him. But Ned already knew that. He looked down at the two bodies, all charred and contorted where the fire had burnt them. He couldn't see any wounds. Then he looked closer and saw blood stains in the ground under Biter's neck. Someone killed them first before they burned. Maybe that was a mercy, but he was sure these two miserable men were facing judgment right now in whatever hell they believed in.

Next they walked around the holdfast and down to the lake where Bronn showed him the footprints in the mud, just above where the water was lapping at the shore. Ned bent close and studied them carefully. After a moment he stood.

"Four, maybe five people, heading east along the shoreline."

"Aye," Bronn answered. "Looks like that's where we'll be going as well. East around the lake and then north along its shores to Harrenhal."

"Is Tywin Lannister really there?"

"He didn't lie."

"Would you tell me if he did?"

"No," Bronn said with a grin. "But I think Lord Imp really wants to end this war."

"What happened at the inn? When my wife took him."

"I was sitting and having a pint of ale," Bronn began. "Shaking the dust of the road out of me. Hardly a coin left to my name, looking for work, thinking maybe to try the Riverlands, see if any lord needed a man good with a sword. Peacetime is a hard time for sellswords. Though I didn't know who they was, your wife was there, with this big man, older."

"Ser Rodrik."

"Aye, that's him. Then the Imp walks in with two of his men and Yoren. I knew who he was, had heard stories about him. He saw your wife and seem surprised but was cordial enough. Didn't look like a man who had committed a crime against her son."

"No, he hides his crimes well."

Bronn shrugged. "Anyways, your wife didn't even say hello or nothing to Tyrion. She started asking different men in the inn about the sigils they wore, and if they knew who she was and if they were still loyal to her father at Riverrun. They all answered yes, and then she accused the Imp of trying to kill your boy and soon he had a dozen swords on him and he was in fetters and on his way to the Vale."

"Your sword included."

"Not at first, but then I just tagged along. Had no other prospects in the offing." The sellsword turned back towards the holdfast. "Best we get back before Lord Imp thinks I turned my cloak and took you off somewhere safe."

"Would you?"

"No," Bronn said with a laugh. "Life is good so far with Lord Imp."

"And when the day comes it isn't?"

Bronn shrugged again. "When that day comes I'll look for a new lord and I'll give him a price and if he can meet it my sword is his."

"Aye. But the Lannisters promised you a lordship."

Bronn grimaced and snorted a short laugh. "Promises don't mean shit till they are fulfilled. Come on."

They moved to the front of the holdfast and there Ned saw the recruit who survived, helping move bodies to the growing pile in front of the holdfast. Ned didn't know his name, but remembered him. The man was young, not much older than Gendry, and had lanky dark hair and a bit of a scar on one cheek. Now he sported a large bruise on the left side of his head near the eye.

"Lord Stark," the man said with a dip of his head.

"Morning. Did you eat?"

"Yes, my lord. I'm…I'm sorry. I told these men things about you and…and the boy, Arry. And Gendry. I was confused…my head."

"Not to worry," Ned told him. He looked at Bronn. "What's to be done with him?"

"Lord Imp said to let him do as he pleases, but he's not to come with us. A drag on our food and someone he doesn't know or can trust."

Ned looked at the man. "Do you want to head north and still join the Night's Watch?"

"I took a hit on the head but I've not lost my wits," the man said. "I'd sooner not go north."

Ned had to grin at that. "Where you from lad?"

"King's Landing."

"Don't go back there," Ned told him. "You'll end up back in the dungeons. What was your crime?"

"I was in a tavern fight over gambling. Some man cheated me and my friend. We nearly killed him."

"But you didn't so that's not so bad. Anywhere else you can go?"

"Maybe," the man replied. "I have family in the Reach."

"Safer," Bronn advised. "No war there. Yet. It's still a long walk to the Reach."

"Good point," Ned stated. He looked over at where the donkeys were. "Tell Tyrion to give him one of the donkeys and a bit of food. The donkeys were with our party and he can spare a loaf of bread and a bit of dried fish." So it was done and before long the man was on his way south with a donkey and small sack of food.

Fifteen minutes later Ned was seated in the back of a wagon between many sacks of flour and oats, just like the serving women and boys he saw in the other wagons. They were mostly common looking except for one dark-haired girl who had a beauty to her. Probably a camp follower and whore to one of the knights, he thought. That's the way it was when armies were on the march. Maybe she was even the Imp's whore. Ned knew the Imp liked his whores. The whores of Winterfell had a fare share of the Imp's gold when he stayed there. Or then again maybe the beauty was just a servant girl.

Off near the front of the column he saw the Imp in his chain mail armor on his horse talking with Bronn and a tall man in Lannister colors, maybe this Ser Jason that Bronn had mentioned. Five of the big hills people were with them, leaders of the tribes no doubt. Ned had learned a thing or two about the hill folk while he was a ward of Jon Arryn's in the Vale. They were a ferocious lot, but were undisciplined and would squabble over plunder and kill a man over perceived slights.

After the little meeting broke up, the gold cloak captain and three of his men who survived the fight approached the Imp on horseback. There seemed to be some arguing, and gestures were made and finally he heard the Imp shouting. They all heard the Imp shouting.

"You will take your men back to King's Landing or you will die here!"

"The King will hear about this!" the gold cloak officer shouted back.

"Good!" Tyrion shouted louder. "Now go before I let my wild men cut your cocks off before I hang you!"

The gold cloak officer growled and then turned his horse and they were soon gone off to the southeast.

After that there was only one more thing to do. Two Lannister men approached the pile of bodies in front of the holdfast. Around it they had piled some brush. One man took a large jug of something and poured it on the wood. Cooking oil, Ned guessed. The second man took a lit torch and dropped it on the wood and soon it was blazing. Goodbye, Yoren, Ned said to himself. Thank you for my daughter's life. After that, they started moving to the east.

The first day they made good time but saw no sign of Arya or any other people for that matter. They started turning more northeast as they rounded the southern shore of Gods Eye. There was no road, but it was mostly flat farmland, the farms deserted, with some tracks across the land to help ease their passage. They passed a few empty and burned out villages, but kept going northeast and then north and in the late afternoon made camp in the open near a small stream.

That night the Imp asked Ned to dine with him again in his tent and Ned reluctantly agreed. The Imp drank a lot and talked and talked. Ned got some stories about the Wall and Jon and Yoren and his brother Benjen from Tyrion and the same story Bronn had told about Cat at the inn. The Imp and his sellsword spoke more on their journey to the Vale and all that had happened, and from what they said it sounded like they had saved Cat's life on the road. At least that's what they said. The Imp also went on about the sky cells of the Eyrie and how they would drive any man to jump after a while. Ned spoke little, drank little, ate till he was full and then left as soon as he could. The Imp's squire took him to a small tent and Ned slept fitfully on a thin straw filled mattress on the ground. It was more comfortable on the sacks in the wagon.

The next day it starting raining as soon as they were off again and they all got drenched but the Imp insisted they keep moving. But the rain grew too much by late afternoon and after a wagon got stuck in the muck again for the fourth time Tyrion called for a halt near a small wooden copse and they made camp close to the trees with the horses tied up in long lines nearby. The stuck wagon they left where it was after first unloading its supplies of barrels of ale and salted fish and beef and stacking them under the trees. They had trouble lighting fires and everyone was miserable and wet and supper was a cold meal of dried salted fish and beef, hard bread, and strong ale. The Imp insisted Ned dry off in his tent where he had a brazier of charcoal burning brightly. It was warm and the steam rose from his clothing as he stood by the brazier.

Tyrion was sitting on his camp bed drying his feet while his squire was pouring wine into cups at the small table when Bronn entered the tent. A bolt of lightning cracked the late afternoon sky outside the tent. "The gods are making war," Ned said automatically. It was something his mother had said when he was a boy and he was frightened by the lightning.

"Aye," said Bronn and then he looked at Tyrion. "One of Ser Jason's scouts just came back. Said there is a small village about two miles ahead. Looked deserted, but its not burned out yet."

"If only the rain would stop, we could press on and make camp there tonight," said Tyrion with a sigh. "But we can't leave the wagon or its supplies behind. It's still a long way to Harrenhal and we have more mouths to feed. Tell Ser Jason we must wait till the weather improves and the wagon is free from the mud."

Ned spoke up. "If it does not stop raining by morning, you could redistribute the supplies to the other wagons and press on." He was worried about Arya and any delay could be dangerous.

"A sound idea," the Imp replied.

Ned left them soon after, despite Tyrion's offer to join them for drinks, claiming he was tired and needed rest. He was mainly weary of the Imp, who could talk a man to death on all subjects. Ned found his tent already set up under some trees nearby and crawled inside. The ground was wet and his mattress was too but he did not care as he stretched out and was soon dozing.

How much time had passed Ned did not know. He woke up and it was still dark but also silent. The rain had stopped, but the air was heavy and damp. Ned sat up and realized he was not alone in the tent.

"Do not shout," came a whispered voice in a strange accent. "This man is not here to harm you, Eddard Stark."

"If you wanted to kill me I'd already be dead," Ned told the man. He was not afraid and then he knew who it was. "Jaqen H'ghar?"

"Yes."

"Where is Arya?" Ned asked quickly in a low voice.

"Safe nearby, with the baker's boy, the one with green hands, and the Bull."

"The Bull…aye, Gendry."

"Yes. Come. We must go. This man has made a promise to Arya Stark to free you and will be done of this debt."

Ned hesitated and decided to tell him. "Tyrion Lannister is in command here. He is taking me to Harrenhal to his father to help bring peace. Arya and I and my other daughter will be traded to help free Tyrion's brother. My son's army captured him. I want you to go back to Arya and tell her all this and at first light have her come in and surrender. I will be waiting for her with Tyrion and some guards. The others can come in too or go as they please. Afterwards, you can run if you want. I won't turn you in. I thank you for helping my daughter."

"This news Arya must hear from you," Jaqen said in the darkness. "The girl will not believe this man."

"Aye," Ned said after a moment of indecision. "Lead the way."

Jaqen opened the tent flap and soon slipped out quietly. The camp was silent, the only noise the water dripping from the trees and the sound of crickets in the grass. Ned followed and stopped when Jaqen stopped. A guard was nearby taking a piss against a tree. Jaqen stood and slipped to another tree and then another and Ned followed as best he could. His bad leg was slowing him down but within five minutes they had slipped past the other guards and were heading along an animal track in the copse. Soon they came out in a clearing. The moon was out, the sky was clear, and between the moon and the red streak in the sky they had enough light to move well. Ned caught up with Jaqen.

"How did you find me?"

"Finding a man was easy. A large group is always easy to track."

"Yes, but my tent, you…"

"This man was in the trees watching as the Lannisters made camp. This man was waiting for Eddard Stark to be alone."

He must be soaked to the skin if he sat in a tree in the downpour, Ned thought. They walked in silence for a few moments. "Did Arya free you? Is that why you are helping me?"

"Yes. A man pays his debts or the Red God would be angry. The girl made this man promise to help you if she freed him from the iron cage. The strong Bull broke the lock at Arya's command and then he broke the chains with his hammer. In the village ahead he found a forge and managed to take off this man's manacles."

"Who killed the other two? Rorge and Biter."

"This man."

"Good."

"Eddard Stark, you believed your daughter killed those two?"

"I did."

"The girl has killed before?"

Ned hesitated and then spoke. "A boy in King's Landing who tried to stop her from escaping."

"And now two men at the holdfast. Maybe more. The Bull saw her kill two, he told this man while she slept. Arya saved his life from one."

Ned said nothing. My daughter, he thought bitterly, a killer. This is what my mistakes have brought my family to.

"Who are you?" Ned asked after a long silence as they walked across a field of short grass on a bluff looking over Gods Eye to the left.

"This man is Jaqen H'ghar. Eddard Stark, you know this already."

"Yoren said you were a murderer."

"Yes, Yoren did not lie. This man has killed. Many times."

"Why?'

"Eddard Stark you have many questions this man cannot answer."

"Answer one more. Why are you helping Arya and me?"

"This man owes a…"

"A debt, aye. But most men accused of murder would run away after being freed from that cage. Not you."

"Most men have no honor. This man does."

A killer with honor. Perhaps such men existed but Ned knew none, not murderers at least. Murderers killed for many reason. Revenge, love, and gold were the main ones. But Ned had heard many stories in his long years as lord of Winterfell, stories from men and women who had killed, trying to explain their reasons and Ned had to decide their fate. In some cases they had good reasons to kill, but murder was still murder, as Yoren had said, no matter if the reason for it was good. Ned condemned most of them to death, taking their heads with Ice, his Valyarian steel sword, as was the custom in the north. Some he sent to the Wall, but not many.

After another ten minutes they came to a small stream that was flowing into Gods Eye, the water moving at full force from the day's rains. They slowly forded it in waist deep water, the water cold and the stream bed slippery. At one point Ned almost slipped with his bad leg being a hindrance, but Jaqen caught him and he did not fall under. On the other side there was a small hill and on top a wooden fence and a farmer's field, full of corn. Jaqen took many ears of corn as they walked and Ned decided to do the same. Twenty minutes later they came through more fields and gardens to the outskirts of a small village with about twenty mud and wattle thatched roof houses, a few smaller wooden ones and one larger wooden one. No lights were in the windows and no smoke was coming from any chimneys. They approached the larger wooden house. As they came in Jaqen grew very still and Ned stopped beside him. They listened and then Jaqen smiled and then Ned heard what made him smile. Someone was snoring.

A scant moment later they came on the baker's boy, Hot Pie, asleep on the ground outside the large house. Jaqen toed his leg and the boy gave a small yelp and scrambled to his feet.

"I yield!" Hot Pie yelled and then the door to the house flew open and in the moonlight Ned saw Gendry was there in his helmet with his hammer in his right hand and Arya was there with Needle out, with the blond boy called Lommy not far behind them, carrying a knife. They all stopped and then Arya shoved Needle into her belt and flew into his arms and all the corn he was carrying fell to the ground. He hugged her tight and she looked up at him.

"I knew Jaqen would find you."

"A man's debt is paid," Jaqen said to her. "A girl's father is free."

Arya looked at him, chewed her bottom lip like she always did when thinking, and then nodded. "Yes, he is free. A man's debt is paid."

"Let's get inside, there are things to explain," Ned told them. They all went in. It was dark except for some embers in a fireplace. Gendry lit a stub of a candle on an ember, placed it on a table, and soon a low light filled the room. Ned took a quick look around. The house had one main room with a small kitchen off it and two doors leading to other small rooms off to the side. The fireplace had a kettle hanging over it, and there was a small table with three chairs. The walls had a few drawings and etchings, the kitchen had some dishes, bowls and cups, next to a bucket full of water and a basin full of water. The heel of a loaf of bread was on a pewter plate on the table.

"Our supper," Hot Pie lamented. Then he smiled. "But now we have corn." He and Lommy had picked up the corn Ned had dropped and placed it on the table and Jaqen also put his arm full on the table.

"We'll cook it later," said Ned as he sat and then looked to his daughter who sat next to him. "Arya, listen to me. Tyrion Lannister. You remember him?"

"The Imp?"

"Aye, the Imp." Ned quickly told them the story. "So we will be traded for the Kingslayer and then we can all go home."

"Home," Arya said with a sigh. Then she looked at the other three boys in the room. "I…I guess you can come, too. If you want. My father will find you places at Winterfell."

"Aye," Ned said as he looked at the boys. "I am in your debt for helping Arya, all of you."

"What about the Night's Watch?" Gendry asked.

"Yoren is dead."

"We know," said Lommy. "Arry saw it."

Ned looked at her and she had a sad look on her face. "Aye. He was a good man. As for the Watch, you haven't taken your oaths yet. Winterfell is cold but not as cold as the Wall."

"I will come to Winterfell and serve, my lord," said Hot Pie right away.

"I hope you are better baker than a guard, lad," Ned said and they all laughed.

"I will come, too, my lord," said Lommy.

"You steal anything and I'll have those green hands off," Ned told him.

Lommy's eyes went wide. "I'll never steal again, my lord."

"Good. Gendry?"

"I've got no where else to go, my lord."

"Aye," Ned said with a nod. Then he made a decision. "We'll stay here tonight. In the morning we'll go out to meet the Imp before he has a fit when he realizes I'm gone." He noticed right away Gendry casting his eyes about, as if worried. "Gendry, the Imp sent the gold cloaks scurrying back to King's Landing. Ser Marcus is dead and the Imp has the rest of his men in hand."

"Can we trust him?" Arya asked.

"No," said Ned seriously. "But he's the only chance we've got to see our family safe and all back in Winterfell. I'll kill the first Lannister man who tries to lay on a hand on any of you, so don't worry about that."

Then Arya chewed her lip again and looked worried. "But…what about the Wall? Your oath?"

"I told you any oath made with a sword at your throat is not an oath the gods will hold you to."

"The Queen might be mad about that."

"Piss on her and her son, the false king. They can come to Winterfell and drag me to the Wall if they dare." They all had shocked looks on their faces and then they laughed. Arya was smiling again and Ned liked that.

"Good," she said. "Now Jaqen what about…?" She turned to look for him but he was gone. "Jaqen?" He was not in the house.

"He's gone Arya," Gendry said after he opened the door and looked outside a bit. "You knew he would go once he found your father."

"But he didn't even say good-bye," Arya said with a touch of anger mixed with sadness.

"He's a wanted man," Ned told her. "He's done enough to pay his debt to you. Let him go if he wants."

She nodded slightly. "Good," Ned told her, hoping they had seen the last of Jaqen. He did not want his daughter consorting with killers, no matter if they were helping her or not.

Ned got them to work, making a fire and getting water for the kettle. They covered the two windows in the house with blankets they found to hide the light and soon they had it warm and the corn was boiling in the big kettle.

Then they sat, Arya and Gendry at the table with Ned, the other two on the floor in front of the fireplace, and told their story, about the fight, and how they escaped, and how Jaqen had taken them in hand and brought them here, and they found the village empty and found some food left behind and then Jaqen went back to find Ned.

"We thought he'd left us for good," Arya told him. "We were going to wait till morning and then leave."

"Good thing we didn't," Hot Pie commented from where he was minding the corn.

"Aye, Jaqen kept his promise," Ned said. "No matter want else he is he has some honor at least." He looked at Arya. "Did he know who you were or did you tell him?"

"He knew, my lord," said Gendry first. "Don't know how, but he called her Arya Stark that first morning and then these other two nearly had a fit."

"Thought she was a boy," said Lommy from where he sat on the floor by the fireplace. "Not a lady."

Arya growled. "I told you to stop calling me that!"

"Aye, all of you stop it," Ned said quickly. "You don't call her anything but Arry and go on pretending she is a boy if you can. There are men riding with the Imp that would ransom me and her for a bag of silver and kill the rest of you quick. The Imp needs us to free his brother so he'll protect us but he's just one man."

"A small man," said Arya with a grin.

"What's an imp?" Hot Pie asked.

"A dwarf," Gendry answered. "I seen him a few times in King's Landing. He walked in a waddle but with his head held high like he was the king himself. Proud he is, people said. Then they laughed behind his back."

Ned nodded. "Aye, they did, but they don't know him like I do. He's a ruthless man like all Lannisters. Don't mistake him for weak because of his size. If he asks you anything you answer quickly and truthfully and call him 'my lord'." He looked at Gendry. "He knows who you are so don't lie to him."

Arya slammed her fist on the table. "Who is _he_?" she asked in frustration.

"I told you to let it be," Ned said to her in a scolding tone.

"He's a bastard," said Lommy. "And we're orphans. That's all."

"No," Hot Pie told Lommy. "The gold cloaks and that ser wanted Gendry. He's someone special."

"I told you two to shut up about that!" Gendry growled. His beard was growing on his square jaw, just a short beard yet, but dark like his father's Ned noted, and it made the boy look fiercer.

"Leave it be," Ned told them, giving Arya an extra long stare until she sighed and nodded.

After a while the corn was ready and they ate and we're happy for a bit. They found places to lie down and soon they were all asleep except Ned, who sat in a chair near the door the rest of the night with Arya's Needle in his hand. It was a good little sword, and it had saved her life. He would have to thank Mikken when they got back to Winterfell.

Dawn came and he woke them and they had the rest of the corn, used the privy, and washed a bit with some water in a basin. Ned peeked out behind the blankets covering the window and saw it was misty out and he could not see far.

"Come on, let's go before they can hear the Imp screaming and cursing from the Arbor to the Wall."

He stepped out into the street and the others followed him. The mist was thinning but it was still hard to see past one house over. Ned tried to get his bearings, tried to remember which way they had come the night before. As they stood there they heard the soft clop of a horse hoof.

"A horse," Arya whispered.

"Quiet," Ned told them. They all got their weapons out, Arya with Needle, Gendry with his hammer, and even the two other boys had short clubs of wood. And once again Ned didn't have a weapon. He silently cursed. Then the boy Lommy took out his long knife from his boot and handed it to Ned.

The horse hoofs came closer and then a mounted figure emerged from the mist. On the horse's back sat the strangest man they had ever seen. He was very brown, and wore all leather, and had a long braid of dark black hair with many small bells in it. In his hand he had a wicked looking curved weapon of some sort.

"Dothraki," Ned said quietly. Then a light breeze blew and the mist suddenly started to clear and more figures emerged from the mist, all on animal back and all a mixture of the strange men of the west and the east. One man, very tall, with a long ropey beard, was sitting on a striped zorse. He rode forward till he was beside the Dothraki.

"Seven hells," said Lommy softly.

"What have we here?" asked the tall man. He was thin and had a chain of some sort around his neck made of many kinds of metal. On his saddle was a helmet shaped like a goat's head. At least a score or more other men were behind him, all mounted and with weapons. One of them carried a banner with a goat on it.

Ned knew who they were now. The Brave Companions. This had to be Vargo Hoat. He had only one chance to save them. "I am Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell. I would be grateful if you would escort us to Lord Tyrion Lannister's camp which is but a few miles to the south. You are his father's sworn bannermen are you not, Lord Hoat?"

"I and my company are employed by Lord Tywin Lannithter," said the tall man, slobbering his words. "I know who you are, Lord Thtark. You thay Tyrion Lannithter ith nearby?"

"Aye."

"Very well," said Hoat. "We will take you to Lord Imp." He turned to his men. "Take Lord Thtark, unharmed."

The Dothraki next to Hoat spoke, the Common Tongue but in a strange accent. "What of the boys?"

"Kill them all," Hoat commanded.


	9. Chapter 9 Gendry

**Ned Stark Lives! Chapter 9 Gendry**

"Kill them all," said the strange talking man on the even stranger horse.

Gendry was standing next to Lord Eddard Stark in the muddy street of a small village near the eastern shore of Gods Eye as the strange man Lord Stark had called Vargo Hoat ordered his men to take Stark unharmed and kill the boys with him. Gendry was one of those boys, though he looked more like a man. At fifteen years of age he was as tall as Stark, and was stocky and well-muscled, his right arm bigger than his left from seven years of pounding metal with a hammer he now held tight in his right hand. His bulls head helmet was in his left, and he now put it on his head, covering his thick mop of coal black hair. Gendry had deep blue eyes, and wore a two week old growth of beard on his face, dark and getting thicker. He gritted his teeth and prepared to do battle once again. It seemed like he had done nothing but run from danger, and fight, since he had left King's Landing not two weeks ago.

He was the cause of some of the danger. The King had sent men to kill him because he was a bastard, son of the dead King Robert Baratheon. Nothing had shocked him as much in his whole life as when Lord Stark had told him the dead king was his father. He still didn't quite believe it. A long time he had sat on the ground in the forest after Stark told him this news. It couldn't be true. It just couldn't be. But the more he thought on it the more he was coming around to believing it was true. Jon Arryn had come to see him in the Street of Steel at Master Mott's shop. Then Ned Stark, both asking questions about his mother, long since dead. He barely remembered her. He didn't understand why they were asking about her and when he asked Master Mott he told him to mind his work and forget about it.

But others wouldn't forget about it. After his master kicked him out and told him to join the Night's Watch others came looking for him to take him back to Kings Landing. Or kill him. First the gold cloaks, and then that lot that tried to kill them a few days ago. He'd be dead too, if it wasn't for Arry. Arya, he had to remember. She was Arya Stark, lady of Winterfell, not Arry the orphan boy who had short greasy hair and dirt under his, her, fingernails. Some lady! Gendry had seen high born ladies before in his master's shop. They were always dressed properly for a lady, had beautiful hair and nice smiles and smelled nice and made him blush when they commented on the size of his arms. They didn't call him a liar or punch his arm when they got mad. Not like Arya.

She was different in so many ways. She was short, with short ugly hair, a face like her father's, and a fierce toughness to her. Most of all though, she had killed, and he was sure those ladies in King's Landing had never killed even a mouse in their lives and would cry over a broken fingernail. Not Arya. Gendry thought she was a liar when she told him she had killed a boy in King's Landing. Now he was sure she wasn't lying about that. She had saved him from a gold cloak at the holdfast. She had stabbed him and killed him before he could kill Gendry. She had told him to free the prisoners from their cage and he had done it. She talked to Jaqen, she told him to find her father. She told them to wait for Jaqen to come back no matter how much he and Hot Pie and Lommy had wanted to leave the village. She became their leader, a little girl of ten. Maybe ten. He wasn't quite sure how old she was. The funny thing was they followed her and did almost everything she had asked.

Then Jaqen did come back with her father before leaving them. For a brief moment Gendry thought all the running was done. Lord Stark was with Tyrion Lannister and over two hundred men, who would protect them and take them safe to Harrenhal and then maybe they would even get to Winterfell. Lord Stark promised them all work and a place to live.

But it all was for nothing. Now they would surely die in this street. Over twenty strange looking armed men appeared out of the mist. Some were on horses, others on strange black and white striped animals that looked sort of like a horse. They had many weapons, swords, crossbows, short bows, maces, morning stars, spears, and the odd curved weapon the Dothraki held. Gendry had never seen the like before.

Stark talked to them, asked for their help. Oh, they would help Stark alright. He was a lord after all. But not these boys. They had to die. But not without a fight.

Without thinking Gendry stepped in front of Arya as soon as Hoat ordered them to die. He had heard her gasp slightly as Hoat told his men to kill them. The man Ned Stark said was a Dothraki smiled wickedly and raised his curved weapon and seemed set to charge when Stark spoke quickly.

"You and your lot lay a hand on any of these boys and I will kill all of you! I swear by all the gods, old and new!" Stark growled at the men.

There was a terrible lingering silence that seemed to go on forever and then the Dothraki laughed and then more men laughed as they rode their horses and strange animals up closer to Hoat. But not Hoat, he didn't laugh at all.

"Who are they to you?" Hoat asked, a puzzled look on his thin face.

"My wards," Stark replied in a firm and commanding tone. He sounded like a lord should, Gendry thought. You had to if you were a lord or no one would listen to you. "I swore to protect them. Tyrion Lannister knows they are with me. If they die I'll tell him who did it and he'll tell his father and there will be retribution. You know what kind of retribution Tywin Lannister pays those who wrong him?"

Hoat nodded. "I have heard of the Lannithter notion of retribution. Very well, Lord Thtark, you and your wardth can…"

Suddenly there was a _thwang_ sound from the mist that still partially surrounded them. An arrow sprouted from the belly of a strange man with a three pronged forked beard colored green. He let out a soft "Oh," sound and then fell from the saddle of his horse into the street. Another arrow zipped close by Hoat's head and then two more men fell from arrows, one of them the Dothraki.

"It's a trap!" yelled one of Hoat's men.

"_Dondarrion_!" Hoat screamed in fury. His fierce eyes blazed at Stark as he drew out a long sword. "Thtark tricked uth! Kill them all!"

Several of Hoat's men started to lift bows and crossbows and fired arrows and bolts at them as Hoat and others prepared to charge.

"Get back in the house!" Stark yelled at them all and Gendry didn't need any more encouragement. He turned and ran and was first to the door, hitting it hard with his shoulder and then falling in the doorway but landed well inside the house, his helmet flying from his head and landing near the fireplace. Arya tripped over him and landed in front of him, and then Hot Pie dove over the two of them, landing with a heavy thud by the table where they had breakfast not twenty minutes ago. There was a loud scream and then Lommy came in, falling over them all, shoved inside quickly by Stark who closed the door behind him just as an arrow hit it.

"The table!" Stark shouted to Gendry, and Gendry got up and grabbed the table and in one swift move in his strong arms lifted it and pushed it against the door.

Outside they heard screams and yells and swords clashed and horse hooves pounded, but no one came near the house.

"Lommy!" Arya said with a small cry from the floor. "Father, he's hurt!"

Gendry and Ned Stark looked around and Lommy was lying on the floor on his right side by the fireplace with Hot Pie and Arya bent over him. A crossbow bolt was buried deep in his back on the left side up high and blood was seeping out, soaking his back and the floor under him.

Stark bent to Lommy and looked at the wound. Lommy was paler that he normally was and his eyes were wet and he blinked rapidly.

"It hurts," he gasped and blood flecked at the corners of his mouth.

"Aye, lad, I know it does," said Stark in a gentle tone.

"Do something!" Hot Pie said in despair, looking at them.

But Lommy's eyes had stopped blinking and his head dropped and Gendry knew he was dead. Arya was sitting next to Gendry and she stifled a small cry and grabbed his left arm tight. He looked at her and her eyes were wet and he saw fear and anger there. She quickly took her hand off his arm and rubbed her eyes just as quickly. Ned Stark reached over and closed Lommy's eyes forever.

"No," said Hot Pie as he sniffled and Stark placed a hand on his shoulder. "He's gone, lad."

Then someone pounded on the door to the house. "Open up in there! In the name of the King!'

Stark stood and went to the door, and Gendry and Arya were right behind him with weapons out. "And what king would that be?" Stark asked through the door.

"King Robert, the only true king. Pity he is dead," came the voice.

"I know that voice," said Stark, and strangely, Gendry thought he did, too.

Stark looked at the table and Gendry pulled it away and then Stark opened the door. A large fat man in wine colored robes under his armor and carrying a large sword stood there. He did a double take and then broke into a broad smile.

"By the Light of R'hllor! Eddard Stark!" said Thoros of Myr with a gale of laughter.

"Thoros!" Stark said as he shook the fat priest's hand and clapped him on the shoulder. He turned to them. "Come on out, these are our friends."

"Friends who got Lommy killed!" said Arya hotly. "Hoat was going to take us to the Imp's camp!"

"What's this boy?" Thoros asked in surprise. "The Imp?"

Stark sighed. "It's a long story. Where's Dondarrion? Is he dead? We've heard rumors."

"Not dead," said Thoros in a serious tone. "Not yet, anyways. Come."

They left the house and outside saw a scene of battle just ended. Six of Vargo Hoat's men lay dead or dieing in the street, and the rest were gone. The mist was clearing up and they could see many men, some looking at the dead on the ground, others chasing down Hoat's dead men's horses and the strange striped animals, and a third larger group were at the end of the street where Hoat's men must have fled. Some were on horse back and others on foot. All were in different clothing and different kinds of armor and all had weapons.

"You have any losses?" Stark asked the red priest.

"No," he replied. "Thank the Lord of Light."

Stark looked around. "Where's Dondarrion?"

"Dondarrion is not with us this fine morning. We were foraging yesterday when we spotted Hoat's group last night, camped nearby. I sent a rider back to fetch the rest of our brotherhood. But Hoat moved early this morning so we were tracking them. This small group got separated from his main group in the mist. But I feared they were about to attack you so I decided we had better do something about it."

"They were going to let us go!" Arya said loudly.

Ned Stark quickly told Thoros the story. "More than two hundred men?" Thoros said in surprise when Stark told him about Tyrion Lannister's camp.

"Aye, closer to three hundred now. Including knights, Lannister cavalry and a band of wild hill folk from the Vale. They'll be looking for us. I came out to find these lost boys last night."

"Why is that?" Thoros asked.

Before he could answer another man approached them. "Lord Stark?" he said in surprise.

"Harwin?" Stark said as the man dipped his head in respect. He was young man, rather common looking. "Good to see you, lad."

"And you, my lord," Harwin said. He had an anxious look on his face. "What news of my father?"

Stark's face took on a sad demeanor. "I'm sorry, lad. The Lannisters killed him."

Harwin turned ashen. "Are you sure, my lord?"

"I saw him," said Arya quietly. "By the stables. He was dead. Everyone was dead." Gendry thought they must have been talking about what had happened in King's Landing the day Ned Stark was arrested.

The man called Harwin looked closely at Arya. "Who are you b…Seven hells…is it…" Harwin began but Stark grabbed his arm.

"Aye, and best be keeping that to yourself."

"Yes, my lord," Harwin said quickly as Stark let go of his arm.

Thoros looked from one to the other in puzzlement but said nothing and then looked at Arya and Gendry. For an instant his eyes stopped on Gendry and he got a puzzled look. "You remind me of someone. Do I know you?"

"You came into my master's shop in the Street of Steel a few times," Gendry said.

Thoros nodded. "Master Mott."

"Yes, my lord."

Thoros looked like he wanted to say more but then he turned to Stark. "Hoat will be back with his main force soon enough. And if Tyrion Lannister is looking for you also we best be leaving here," Thoros said. "Dondarrion will want words with you. We should leave now."

"I'm not coming," said Stark and Thoros and Harwin exchanged surprised looks.

"Lord Stark, we can't let you be taken prisoner again," Thoros said.

"I told you I was not a prisoner," Stark said. "I'm trying to help end this war and see my family safe. I'm going to Harrenhal to negotiate with Tywin Lannister and then to Riverrun to bring peace terms to Robb."

Harwin spit on the ground. "May the Others take the Lannisters," he said fiercely.

"I know your pain, Harwin," said Stark gently. "We lost many good people in King's Landing along with your father. But how many more must die? I will negotiate for your pardons as well. All of you."

Thoros snorted. "We left King's Landing under your command to bring the king's justice to Gregor Clegane. But King Robert is dead now. Most of our men are dead now. They arrested you for treason, killed all your people. The land is in chaos, the small folk are bleeding. And you are going to negotiate? With Tywin Lannister? You know what he is like, Lord Stark. He will not forget your son raised an army against him. He will not forget your wife took the Imp hostage. The song "The Rains of Castemere" is not based on a myth!"

Stark sighed wearily. "Aye. But we need time, Thoros. Renly and Stannis Baratheon are building their forces. You understand what that means?"

"Yes," the red priest answered. "War is not over yet."

"Aye," said Stark. And then a man came running up to their small group.

"I saw some cavalry coming through the farmer's fields from the south," he told them in a hurry. "Lannister colors and banners."

"That would be the Imp," said Stark.

"Come with us," Harwin asked, almost pleading, looking at Stark and then his daughter. "You can't trust the Lannisters, my lord."

"No," said Stark. "But they still have Sansa as hostage so I must suffer them for a little while longer at least. May the gods protect you."

"God," said Thoros solemnly. "One god, Lord Eddard Stark. May you walk in his light."

Thoros turned without another word and shouted to his men. "Time to leave!" And quick as that they started to melt off towards the north, moving through the fields until they hit a tree line and disappeared. Not five minutes later a bunch of horsemen came in from the south. In front was a dark haired, tough looking man in black leather armor. Next to him was a tall man in Lannister colors carrying a lance. Twenty other Lannister cavalry men came with them, riding hard into the village.

"Lord Imp is mightily pissed this morning," said the man in leather armor to Ned Stark as he jumped down from his saddle. "What happened here?"

Stark went off to talk to them, leaving Gendry, Hot Pie, and Arya alone. "Let's get Lommy," Gendry said after a few moments.

They went back in the house and Lommy was still laying there, blood around his body. Gendry bent to him and wrapped his strong right hand around the crossbow bolt and gave a sharp tug. It came out dripping in blood and Hot Pie gave a small wail. Arya said nothing and her eyes had an intense look of anger in them. Gendry threw the bolt on the floor. Arya found a blanket and they gently rolled Lommy's body in it, avoiding the blood stain as best they could, and then carried him outside.

"We should dig a grave," said Arya in a quiet voice.

"Yes," said Hot Pie as he sniffled. "He was my friend. He needs a grave."

"There was a shovel in the forge," said Gendry. He stood and started walking toward the small building with the forge they had found the day before, where he had removed Jaqen's manacles.

Lord Stark shouted at him. "Where are you going?"

"To get a shovel to bury Lommy."

"Aye. Don't wander far."

He found the shovel and then as Arya carried it he and Hot Pie took Lommy's body in the blanket to a small patch of open ground between two thatched roofed houses.

"This will do," Gendry said and then he started to dig. It felt good digging, doing work, making his body move. He always felt good when he got into a rhythm with his hammer, pounding on metal. This was no different.

"They killed him," said Arya in anger from where she sat on the ground nearby. "If Thoros and Harwin and the others hadn't attacked, Hoat would have taken us to the Imp. Hoat thought we tricked him. That's why they shot Lommy."

"Maybe he would have taken us," said Hot Pie. He was sitting on the ground as well, his back leaning against one of the small houses.

"He said he was," Gendry told them. "Well, he was going to say it. Who is Hoat anyway?"

"Don't know," said Arya. "Funny looking man."

"He talked funny, too," Hot Pie added. "Who were those that attacked them?"

"Beric Dondarrion's men," Arya answered. "My father sent them out weeks ago to find the Mountain."

"What mountain?" Hot Pie asked. "There's no mountains around here. Is there?"

"_The_ Mountain," Arya said with a shake of her head. "His real name is Gregor Clegane. He's the Hound's brother."

"The…what?"

"Hound, everyone calls him the Hound. He's name is Sandor…I think. Anyway, he's Joffrey's dog, so people call him the Hound. I think. I mean, he protects Joffrey. The Hound killed my friend Mycah so one day I'm going to kill him."

Gendry had to laugh at how silly she was. Killing men in the dark in the chaos of battle was one thing but the Hound was a monster. He knew who the Hound was, had seen him in King's Landing. No, Arya, he said to himself, you don't want to bother that dog.

"I will too!" she said fiercely after he had laughed. "Him, and Cersei, and Joffrey, all of them. They are liars and…"

"You best not say anything to anyone about that," Gendry told her quickly as he dropped a shovel full of dirt on the growing pile. "Especially Tyrion Lannister. And your father."

"Maybe he will kill them first," she said with a small grin.

"Who's Dondarrion?" Hot Pie asked again.

She sighed. "Look. The Mountain started killing people. Dondarrion is a lord. My father sent Dondarrion and a bunch of men to stop the Mountain. That's how the war started." She chewed her bottom lip. "Maybe."

"Oh," said Hot Pie. "I got it. I think."

Arya suddenly laughed a bit. "My sister's friend Jeyne Poole said Dondarrion was handsome."

"You've got a sister?" Hot Pie asked in surprise.

"Stupid," Gendry said to him. "Lord Stark told us last night Arya's sister was a prisoner in King's Landing. Of course, she has a sister."

"And three brothers. No, four," Arya said quickly.

"Is it three or four?" Hot Pie asked.

"Four. Definitely four," Arya told him.

"One's like me," Gendry said as he dug deeper, piling more dirt to one side.

Hot Pie looked puzzled. "He's a smith, too?"

"No. A bastard," Gendry told him.

"Stop calling him that!" Arya scolded him in a fierce tone

Gendry stopped digging and looked at her. "Sorry, my…sorry." She had that fierce look in her grey eyes but then it softened and he started digging again.

"Who was the man in red? He knew you, Gendry," Hot Pie said next. He was full of questions, Gendry thought, too many questions. Maybe he just wanted to talk so he didn't have to think about Lommy.

"Thoros. He's a red priest. From Myr, people said."

"One of the Free Cities," Arya added.

"What's a red priest?" Hot Pie asked next. Gendry just wished he shut up but Arya answered his question. Maybe she didn't want to think about Lommy and what they were really doing here as well.

"I think they believe in only one god," she said. "Got something to do with fire."

"I met him before, in King's Landing," Gendry told them as he started digging again. He found two big rocks and picked them up and put them on the dirt pile. "He used to come into my master's shop to get his swords made. He liked flaming swords but the flames ruined the blades."

"My father told us Thoros used a flaming sword when he attacked the Greyjoys at Pyke," Arya told them.

Then Hot Pie asked about that and Arya told them as much as she could remember about the Greyjoys and their rebellion and about Theon, her father's ward. She used to think Theon was one of her brothers since he had come to Winterfell at the time she was born so he was always there as far she as she knew but when she got older she soon learned he was a hostage to his father's word not to rebel again.

After that they grew quiet and the only sound was Gendry's shovel as he dug.

"It's not fair," said Hot Pie suddenly. Gendry saw Hot Pie looking at Lommy's body. "Lommy never hurt anyone. He just stole a few things. He wanted to go to Winterfell, too."

"Bad luck is all," said Gendry. "That crossbow bolt could have hit anyone of us."

Hot Pie gulped. "It could have."

"The hole is deep enough," said Arya suddenly as she stood.

"That it is," Gendry answered as he stepped out of the almost three foot deep hole he had dug. He handed Arya the shovel and then he and Hot Pie gently placed the body into the hole and Gendry took back the shovel and started covering it with dirt. Arya and Hot Pie helped him by pushing the dirt in with their hands. Just as they finished they heard several people approaching. It was Lord Stark, with the man in leather armor, and Tyrion Lannister, all of them on foot.

Gendry had seen the man everyone called the Imp a few times in King's Landing before but not from this close up. He was short, and ugly to be sure. His forehead jutted out over his mismatched eyes, and his legs looked a bit twisted, and he waddled when he walked. But he still held his head high.

"Ah, just in time for a funeral," said Tyrion Lannister. "And who is the dear departed?"

"Lommy…my lord," said Gendry.

"Do carry on," said Tyrion.

"We should say a few words," Arya told them. "I…I don't know what to say."

"May the gods look after him in death more than they did in life," said her father solemnly.

"That sounded good," said Hot Pie in a choked voice as he wiped away a tear. "Thank you, my lord."

"And now to business," said Tyrion after an awkward moment of silence. "Lord Stark has informed me of his adventures that brought him to this village last night. I wish he had told me so I could have provided a proper escort for him. But that is moot now. You three will be coming with us to Harrenhal and if things go well you may continue your journey to Winterfell. My name is Tyrion Lannister of Casterly Rock, by the way. And you are?" His eyes were on Hot Pie as he asked the question.

"Hot Pie…my lord," Hot Pie told him nervously. "Everyone calls me Hot Pie."

"Can you bake a hot pie, Hot Pie?" the man in leather asked with a smirk.

"Yes, my lord," Hot Pie replied.

"He's not a lord," Stark told them.

"Not yet," said Tyrion. "May I introduce Bronn, who is in my employ. He has many duties, including saving my life from time to time and swimming through sewers to bring glory to the both of us."

"Never again," the man called Bronn said with a wrinkle of his nose. Gendry had no idea what they were talking about.

"Let us hope not," said Tyrion. He cast his mismatched eyes on Gendry next. "Yes, I can see it." He turned to look at Lord Stark and then back to Gendry. "You are Gendry, correct?"

"Yes, my lord." Stark said the Imp knew who he was but Gendry was still surprised by him recognizing him.

"I heard you are a good armorer."

"Not bad, my lord."

"Modest, too," Tyrion said with raised eyebrows. "Quite unlike your father. Well, you can smith for my father at Harrenhal till the war is over and Lord Stark brings you north to Winterfell as he told me he promised."

"Do my best, my lord."

"Good." Then Tyrion cast his eyes on Arya. "Yes, I can see how many were fooled. I would have been myself if I didn't know who you were, Lady Stark."

"I'm not a…I'm not a lady, my lord," she answered, her tone respectful.

"No? Well, a good bath and a change of clothing at Harrenhal will set that to rights."

Arya made a sour face and Gendry thought she was going to yell at the Imp but she held her tongue.

"Now before we join the rest of my men I must warn you to remain quiet about your true identities," Tyrion said, his eyes moving from Gendry to Arya. "The fewer people who know who you are the better. As of now, Bronn and my squire Podrick know and that is all. It is still many days travel to Harrenhal. Podrick will find you food and bedding when we stop. Arya, try to pretend Lord Stark is not your father."

"I can do that…my lord."

"We've had some practice," Ned Stark added.

"Good," Tyrion replied. And then he looked at them again. "Lord Stark tells me you were riding donkeys from King's Landing. We so happened to have a few, yours I believe. So let us mount up and be on our way."

Gendry retrieved his helmet from the house and then they found their donkeys and mounted up. Gendry looked around at the mass of people Tyrion had with him. A large bunch of Lannister men on horseback with lances, and many strange large men and women in furs and leathers. One woman had a chain of something around her neck which Gendry thought looked like human ears. No, that couldn't be right. There were also several wagons, loaded with supplies. Lord Stark was about to get into one of these wagons when a shout came from the front of their large group. A minute later Vargo Hoat and with a much larger party than before came in on the track from the east. Gendry, Arya, and Hot Pie sat on their donkeys nearby as Lord Stark stood and Tyrion, Bronn, and the tall man in Lannister colors met Hoat in the street on horseback.

"Lord Tyrion," Hoat said with a nod of his head.

"Lord Hoat I presume," Tyrion replied. "My father tells me great things about you."

"Lord Tywin ith too kind," Hoat said and then he stared at Stark. "Why are you helping thith traitor?"

"Traitor, is it?" Stark said with a growl. "Your men killed one of the boys I swore to protect."

"You laid a trap for uth! Thix of my men are dead!" He waved his long thin arm toward the six bodies which had been laid out near one of the houses.

"Lord Stark has explained what has happened," Tyrion told Hoat. "He was unaware that Dondarrion's men were close by. They told Lord Stark that they were tracking you. You led them to this village. Stark was unaware of their presence. They attacked because you threatened Lord Stark's group."

"I call Lord Thtark a liar," said Hoat with a twisted angry look on his face.

"Get off your ugly horse and put steel in your hand and we'll see who the liar is," Stark declared. Arya took a small sharp inhale of breath as her father said this. Hoat smiled and started to take out his sword when Tyrion tried to put an end to it.

"Enough!" Tyrion Lannister said, glaring at Stark and Hoat in turn. "What is done is done. Lord Hoat I believe my father is paying you handsomely to find Dondarrion and his men. They are but thirty minutes ride to the north. If you hurry you may yet catch them."

"I will first have juthtice for my dead men with Thtark's blood," Hoat declared pulling out his sword the rest of the way. In an instant Bronn had his sword out and moved his horse between Hoat and Tyrion.

"Best put that away before you cut yourself," Bronn told him calmly. Here was a man who was not afraid of much Gendry decided.

"Out of the way thellthword!" Hoat shouted and slobbered. "Thomeone give Thtark a thword!"

"Aye," Stark said with what Gendry took to be glee. "Let it be done."

"No," said Arya but not loud enough for anyone up front to hear her. "He's hurt." She started to move her donkey forward but Gendry grabbed its bridle. "Stay put!" he said to her in a fierce whisper. She glared at him but did not fight him.

"Stark did not kill them!" Tyrion told Hoat loudly. Then he waved his short arm around. "Lord Hoat, I have twice your numbers! If you do not put away your sword I will order my men to kill every last one of you and your Brave Companions. Starting with you. Bronn."

"Be my pleasure," said the dark haired sellsword.

For a second there was real tension in the air. No one moved. Gendry thought Bronn was about to attack Hoat but then Hoat put away his sword.

"Thith ith not over Thtark!" he yelled.

"I'll be at Harrenhal when you're ready to say hello to the Stranger," Stark told him.

Hoat said nothing but fury was on his face as he turned his funny looking horse around, waved to his men and in a few minutes they had ridden out to the north, looking for Dondarrion's men Gendry guessed.

"That was fun," said Bronn as he put away his sword. He looked at Stark. "Sure you can fight with that leg?"

"Aye," said Stark. He looked up at Tyrion. "You tell your father that Hoat is a dangerous dog who should be put down."

"Oh, he knows," said Tyrion. "I do not believe Lord Hoat will be much longer in my father's employ. Maybe we'll get lucky and Lord Hoat's men will decide to geld him and elect a new leader after this little drama. If not you can kill him if you want. I care not. But not till the war is ended. I still have need of you, alive. Let's move while the weather is good and the day is still young."

After that Stark got back on his wagon and they started to move. Gendry, Arya and Hot Pie rode next to Stark's wagon but there were too many Lannister men about, behind them and forming a rear guard so it was hard to talk to Stark.

They made good progress that day, moving on tracks and narrow roads where they could, passing by more burned out villages, and finding more than a few dead bodies. Those that could had fled and the countryside was very quiet. The first night they made camp in an open field. Gendry, Arya, and Hot Pie were sitting by themselves around a small fire near the wagons, eating bread and cheese and dried beef, washed down with mugs of ale Tryion's squire Pod had brought them. As they ate, Pod came back to them.

"My lord wishes to see Gendry," he said.

"I'm Gendry," Gendry said as he stood. He followed Pod back through the camp until they came to a large red tent with two guards outside it. Pod let him inside the tent. There at a small table sat Tyrion, Lord Stark, and Bronn with the remains of their supper and cups of wine.

"Ah, thank you Pod," Tyrion said. "You may leave us but do come back in a while for the dishes. And bring my bed warmer as well."

"Yes, my lord," Pod said and then he left.

Gendry waited and then Tyrion spoke to him. "So you say you are a good armorer. My armor needs repairs."

Tyrion nodded to a wooden chest were a small suit of plate armor rested, breast plate, back plate and separated pieces of armor to protect the arms. Gendry picked it up and looked it over and then saw the damage to the right elbow.

"What did this, my lord?" he asked.

"A Stark morning star on the Green Fork. From Ser Geoff...something or other."

"He's dead now," Bronn said.

"Where was he from?" Stark asked.

"Said Barrowton," Bronn answered. "His horse fell on him, broke his leg."

"That seems to happen a lot," Tyrion said, looking at Stark. Then he turned back to Gendry. "Can you fix it?"

"Yes, my lord. If I had a forge and some sheet metal and the proper tools. Take no time at all."

"Well, we lack a forge or proper tools so it will have to wait till Harrenhal."

Gendry knew that and wondered why they had really called him here and placed the armor back on the wooden chest and stood waiting.

"So, Gendry, the famous bastard of King's Landing," Tyrion said after he drank deeply.

"Don't call him that," Stark said in a strong tone.

"Oh, yes," said Tyrion. "You have one of your own. Jon Snow. Nice lad. I told you how we went to the Wall together. He had no idea that the Wall was full of bastards and murderers and rapists. Thought it was some glorious brotherhood."

"The Night's Watch protects the land, my lord," said Gendry.

"Indeed?" Tyrion replied with raised eyebrows and a smirk on his face. "And you were all set to join this great brotherhood. Why?"

Gendry shrugged. "My master kicked me out. Said I was no good."

"He lied," said Tyrion. "I've seen your helmet. That is good work. Lord Stark said you made it yourself. Now why would your master lie about your skill?"

"Leave it be," Stark told him. "You know who he is. Isn't that enough?"

"No," Tyrion said strongly. "I would have the truth of this before I see my father. Someone wants this boy dead. That someone is the King."

"False king," Stark said with some heat. There it was again, Gendry thought. That was the third time Stark called Joffrey the false king.

Tyrion sighed. "If you say that to my father things may not go as you hoped. As for you Gendry, someone warned you to leave the city in a roundabout fashion. Someone knew Joffrey wanted you dead. Tell me what happened that day you left."

Gendry looked at Stark and Stark gave a short nod. "A man came to see my master, spoke to him. I didn't think much of it but next morning I was told to pack my things and get out."

"What man?"

"Don't know. Just a man. Got a glimpse of him but couldn't see his face well. He wore a hood, a cowl, my lord."

"Like he wanted to hide his identity," said Tyrion thoughtfully. "So you left, just like that?"

"Yes."

"Why join the Night's Watch?"

"Had no where else to go. Master Mott said a Night's Watch man was taking recruits and was at the Mud Gate."

"Mott seemed very informed for a master smith about the workings of Yoren's recruiting practices."

"I suppose so, my lord."

Tyrion looked at him closely. "You know who you are, don't you?"

"Gendry. Waters."

"Yes, a bastard surname. I suppose it would not do to call yourself Baratheon."

No, Gendry thought. I'll never have that name. Bronn gave a short laugh but Stark scowled at the Imp.

"Leave the poor boy alone, for pity's sake," Stark told Tyrion. "He's answered your questions and that's all he knows."

"Not yet," Tyrion said and turned back to Gendry. "What do you know of your father?"

"He was king," said Gendry. "He was a drunk. That's all."

Tyrion laughed loudly and Bronn joined him and even Stark smiled a bit. "Aye, he liked his drink lad, no doubt about it."

Tyrion grew serious again. "Why do you think the present King wants you dead?"

"Cause I'm his father's bastard."

"Correct. Do you know of the Blackfyre Rebellion?"

"No. My lord."

"The Blackfyres were the bastard gets of King Aegon Targaryen, the fourth of his name. On his deathbed he legitimized all his bastards. I won't bore you with the details but there was rebellion and Blackfyre pretenders to the throne plagued the Seven Kingdoms for decades. I think Joffrey may have in his mind to forestall such an event. Even if he does not know much about the Blackfyres he knows or at least Cersei has told him by now that Daenerys Targaryen and her brother Viserys plagued Robert with sleepless nights."

"I don't know who they are, my lord."

"No? No, I suppose there is no need to learn history when you are learning to make armor and swords. They are the children of the Mad King, Rhaegar's younger brother and sister, fled across the Narrow Sea when your father took the Iron Throne. Robert wanted them dead and I'm sure Joffrey does as well. He wants no pretenders to his throne. Including his father's bastards."

Stark gave a snort but said nothing. "I don't want his throne," Gendry told them. Were they mad? He was just an apprentice armorer.

"Of course you don't," said Tyrion. "But Joffrey doesn't care about that. You are also a symbol of his father's infidelity. I can see why he wants you dead."

"Then why are you helping the lad?" Stark asked, a question Gendry also wanted to ask.

Tyrion drank again and grinned at Stark. "Because you asked me to. Ah, well, I think it is time we retire for the night. I have drunk too much as usual and am in need of my bed warmer."

"As usual," Bronn said with a grin and then he stood and waited for Stark and Gendry to leave. After a few strides behind them Bronn went off one way and they went back towards the wagons.

"Don't mind what he says," Stark told him as they passed a large group of the wild men, two of them wrestling on the ground near a fire as others hooted and laughed. "You are safe now. I will protect you. I owe Robert that much at least."

"He never knew me and I never knew him," Gendry said.

"Aye, but you are still his son. Someday I will tell you all I know about him."

"I would like that, my lord."

Soon they were at the wagons and Gendry found the small fire where Arya and Hot Pie were curled up on the ground, half asleep.

"Come on, get up," Stark told them. "You three can have my tent. It's warmer. I'll sleep in the back of a wagon."

"Won't it be cold?" Arya asked him as she stood and stifled a yawn.

"I'm of the north, I'll be fine. The wagon has sacks to lie on. More comfortable even if it's a bit cold."

"Maybe you need a bed warmer like the Imp," Gendry said.

Stark gave a short laugh. "He means a woman, lad, not a pan of hot embers to warm his bed."

"Oh," Gendry said, and felt his face flush a bit. He always got that way when people talked about women and made references to fornication.

They made their way back though the camp to where Stark's small tent was set up not far from Tyrion's. They saw Pod leading a dark haired woman to the Imp's tent. Stark ran over and stopped Pod as he was coming out. Stark spoke to him and ten minutes later Pod returned with three blankets for them. Stark gave them one each and bid them good night. Arya looked like she wanted to hug him but restrained herself.

Inside the small tent there was barely enough room for the three to lie down. There was a thin narrow mattress on the ground and in a fit of chivalry Gendry and Hot Pie insisted Arya take it. Gendry was much taller than Hot Pie so he stretched out on the ground lengthways beside Arya and Hot Pie curled up at their feet near the tent entrance.

"What did the Imp want?" Arya asked Gendry after they settled down under their blankets.

"Wants me to fix his armor. Got damaged fighting against your brother's men at the Green Fork."

"Oh."

He wasn't going to say anything about the Imp asking him about being King Robert's son. He might have told Arya, she'd understand and maybe treat him the same. But not Hot Pie. Gendry didn't want him to treat him any differently.

They were silent for a while, then Hot Pie spoke. "What's going to happen at Harrenhal?"

"Don't know," said Arya. "Suppose we'll stay there till my father finds Robb and makes peace."

"Then you'll be traded," said Gendry.

"Yes."

He thought about that and it made his head hurt thinking so hard but something wasn't right here. "You're not a thing to trade," he finally said.

"I know," she whispered.

"It's not right."

"I'm high born. That's what they do with us."

"It's still not right."

"Least you grew up in a castle and had food every day," said Hot Pie.

"I…I suppose so," said Arya. She sighed. "Look, I don't know what will happen at Harrenhal. But you two…don't treat me like a lady. Please. I'm just Arya."

"We can't," said Hot Pie. "People will get angry."

"He's right," Gendry added.

"It's so stupid," Arya said in the darkness.

They were silent for a while, then Gendry asked something he wanted to know the answer to badly. "What's going to happen later? At Winterfell?"

"What do you mean?" she asked. "Hot Pie will bake pies and you will work in the forge."

Somehow that made him feel bad. He didn't know why, but the way she said it made it sound so final. "And what about you?"

"Me?" She sighed. "I will go back to studying and learning stupid things like needlework and the great houses of the realm."

"You don't want to do that?"

"No," she stated strongly. "I want to ride a horse and learn how to fight with Needle and have my own castle and my own men."

That made Gendry smile in the darkness. She was very different.

"You can have a castle if you marry a lord," Hot Pie said and Arya cursed. "Seven hells! I hope not."

"They'll make you." Gendry told her. Somehow that made him feel bad too.

"I'll run away!" she declared. "I'll marry who I want, when I want!" Hot Pie and Gendry now both laughed.

"Oh, shut up!" she said. "Go to sleep."

"Yes, my lady," Hot Pie and Gendry both said at the same time. She growled and kicked Hot Pie and smacked Gendry's arm and then all three started laughing. After a while they grew quiet and let sleep overcome them.

Gendry didn't know how long he had slept when he heard a whimpering noise. He opened his eyes and listened. It was coming from Arya. Then she made a growling sound, and whimpered again and then all of a sudden she sat bolt upright and cried out and was breathing hard.

Gendry sat up and grabbed her and suddenly she flung her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder.

He felt awkward and patted her back, not knowing what else to do. "What's the matter? Bad dream?"

"Yes…maybe," she said, not moving, speaking into his shoulder "I dreamed…I dreamed I was a direwolf. I was hunting with my pack. I killed…I killed a man. And then…no, no."

"Shsssh," Gendry said gently, wrapping his arms round her. "Just a bad dream."

She looked up at him, and in the semi-darkness her eyes shone as if wet. "I don't think it was a dream. I think I was the direwolf. I think I was inside the direwolf. Nymeria."

"Nymeria?"

"My direwolf." She pulled away from him a bit and he let go, then she wiped her eyes. "She bit Joffrey."

Gendry smiled in the darkness. "Smart wolf."

"Direwolf," she whispered. "Bigger. She was my pet. There were six. One for each of us. But Nymeria bit Joffrey and she had to run away but they killed Sansa's Lady to punish us."

Gendry had no idea what she was talking about but now she was calmer he knew they should go back to sleep before Hot Pie woke up. "Tell me all about it in the morning."

Suddenly she reached out and grabbed his arm. "Gendry, tell me why they want to take you back to King's Landing. Please."

He sighed deeply. "You'll never believe me," he whispered.

"You believed I was inside a direwolf. Don't you? It can't be stranger than that."

"It is."

She waited and said nothing, her small warm hand on his arm, not moving.

"I'm the dead king's son," he said at last. There. He had told her.

She gasped and then a second hand was on his arm. "King…Robert? Your father?"

"Yes."

She took her hands away and was silent for a moment. "But…why does Joffrey want to take you back to King's Landing?"

"He doesn't. Those men were sent here to kill me."

She gasped again and her hands were back on his arm. "I'll protect you. With Needle."

Gendry wanted to laugh but knew that would hurt her. "You already have, at the holdfast. You killed that gold cloak."

"He deserved it. They all did," she said in a fierce tone.

From their feet Hot Pie sighed loudly. "Now we know his big secret. So if my lord and lady are done talking I would like to sleep."

"Shut up!" Gendry and Arya said at the same time, and they kicked Hot Pie and he groaned and they laughed and then tried to go back to sleep. After a while Gendry heard Hot Pie snoring. He sensed Arya was still awake.

"I'm not a lord," he whispered. "Just a bastard."

"Don't call yourself that," she whispered back.

"Yes. But it's true."

"Being a bastard doesn't make you a bad person," she said. "I know two bastards. You and Jon. And to me you two are more noble than the Imp or Joffrey or the Hound or his brother or any of those other sers or lords."

That made him feel good. "Thank you. Good night,…my lady," he teased.

She hit him once and then she said "Good night," and after a bit sleep overcame Gendry at last.


	10. Chapter 10 Tywin

**Ned Stark Lives! Chapter 10 Tywin**

Just after sunrise Tywin Lannister awoke in Lady Shella Whent's former chambers and prepared for the day. He was soon sitting in the solar of the former resident of Harrenhal, receiving messages from his commanders about the state of affairs during the night. Two men had gotten drunk and were fighting over some perceived insult. Tywin ordered them whipped and had the whole unit's beer ration reduced. Another report said that Ser Gregor Clegane was near the Blue Fork, disrupting supplies and intercepting messengers from the Twins towards Riverrun. Meanwhile Vargo Hoat was on the eastern shore of Gods Eye, causing chaos among the small folk. Ser Amory Lorch had come in two days before with plenty of plunder and the news that he had met Tywin's dwarf son Tyrion on the Kingsroad. He also reported that Cersei had ordered a group of her men out from King's Landing to bring Ned Stark back to the capital. Tywin had sent her a stiff raven message yesterday informing her that Ned Stark was to be brought to Harrenhal at once if her men found Stark before Tyrion did.

The solar was large like everything else at Harrenhal. Lady Whent had not done much to make the castle livable, with most of the buildings and towers left to the rats and dust for years. But her own quarters were decent enough. Lady Whent was gone but her whereabouts he now knew, and it only cost her maester one broken finger before he squealed out the truth. Lady Shella Whent had suddenly decided to visit some relatives in Maidenpoole, and then perhaps to take ship to Gulltown and the Vale. The Whents were related to the Tullys, one of Lady Whent's aunts or cousins or someone being mother to Catelyn and Lysa Tully. Tywin cared not where she went. She had fled, and the castle was now the property of the realm and he would depose of it as need be when the war was over.

There was a knock on the door of the solar and then one of his guards entered. "The maester, my lord."

"Bid him enter," Tywin told the guard. The maester came in, walking slowly, looking a bit pained. In his hands he held four raven scrolls, holding them awkwardly as his fourth finger on his left hand was wrapped tight in a bandage.

"Messages, my lord." The maester said as he moved toward the table. The guard remained in the room, his eye on the maester.

"How many and from where?" Tywin asked. Ravens were trained only to fly between certain locations. Most major cities and castles of the realm had ravens trained to fly back and forth to Harrenhal as it was a principle location of the realm for almost three hundred years.

"Four, three from King's Landing. One from Dragonstone."

"Dragonstone?"

"Yes, my lord."

That puzzled Tywin. Was Lady Whent involved in some plot with Stannis Baratheon? Was she off to the Vale to get Lysa Arryn more involved in this than she already was? Perhaps it was a mistake to leave her unmolested. He turned his attention back to the maester.

"Still no word from Casterly Rock?"

"None, my lord."

"Very well. Place them on the table. You may leave."

After it was done and he was gone, Tywin picked up the first message from King's Landing, wrapped tight and sealed with a few drops of hard melted black wax. He opened it and unrolled it. From Cersei, again.

_Father, I hope this finds you well. The King and I and Tommen and Myrcella are well. We are preparing to fight with our last breath. Stannis continues to remain on Dragonstone, while Renly Baratheon gathers more men and moves quickly up the Roseroad to besiege us. We need your army. We must have its valiant men to defend us. I pray to the Seven that you will heed my words and swiftly come to our rescue. I also pray to the Seven that our beloved Jaime will soon be freed from his chains. With love and affection, Cersei, your loving daughter._

Tywin grunted. Now she was my loving daughter. Before she was the Queen Regent. Now she asks for my army. Before she demanded it. He picked up the second message from King's Landing and opened it. From Varys, he knew right away, knowing the Spider's handwriting.

_Lord Tywin, I bring news of the war. Stannis continues to gather ships and men, many ships but not so many men, fortunately. Alas, I have no spies on Dragonstone and no ships can get near without being intercepted. Thus, I do not know when he will strike or how. Renly, on the other hand, has enough men but is taking a leisurely stroll up the Roseroad, stopping at every castle and town to feast and enjoy himself. It may be a few weeks or a moon's turn before he is at King's Landing. Still, the Baratheon brothers have not joined in a common cause as far as my little birds tell me. Renly and Stannis are both calling themselves the rightful king. There have also been some rumblings from Pyke. Balon Greyjoy's son Theon has returned to the Iron Islands. He is presenting an offer of alliance from Robb Stark. The outcome I do not yet know._

That was ill news about Pyke. The ironmen were tough warriors and fearsome seafarers. It would not do to have them allied with Robb Stark, not being so close to Casterly Rock and Lannisport. But it depended on how Stark made the offer. Balon Greyjoy was a prickly man, was of the breed of ironmen who took what they wanted and would not accept it as a gift for service. Greyjoy would want revenge for his dead sons and for his humiliation nine years past. But an alliance with the Starks? They had held his son for nine years, had part in killing his other two sons, and helped Robert batter down Pyke's walls. No, Tywin decided, Greyjoy would not join Robb Stark. He continued to read Varys' news.

_Catelyn Stark has joined her son at Riverrun. There is little news from the north, as can be expected, except from the Night's Watch asking for more men as usual. Dorne is quiet, for now. A small piece of good news from our friend with the Dothraki across the Narrow Sea. Khal Drogo has killed Viserys Targaryen. Poured molten gold on his head. Terrible way to go. Your obedient servant always, Lord Varys._

Tywin almost grinned. Viserys Targaryen. A small boy when he had last seen him over fifteen years ago. The Beggar King they called him in the Free Cities. Robert loathed him and wanted him dead. Now it was done. But there was no mention of his sister. Was she still married to Khal Drogo or was she dead as well? News was so slow coming from the east, this may be many weeks or months old.

He then opened the third message from King's Landing. This time he sighed deeply. It was from Joffrey.

_Lord Tywin Lannister. As Warden of the West it is your duty to help protect the realm when the King asks. The King commands you to bring your army at once to King's Landing. In addition, you are commanded to take up your post as Hand of the King forthwith. Any delay will not be tolerated. King Joffrey Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the…._

Tywin crumpled the paper and tossed it in the fire in the large hearth nearby his table without finishing reading his grandson's titles. Little boy ought to be whipped. The insolent pup! King he was, only because his drunk of a father was silly enough to step in front of a charging boar. He was sure Cersei knew nothing of Joffrey's letter or she wouldn't have written one herself. Or maybe that was their plan, a soft plea from Cersei and stern note from the King. If they thought that would work on Tywin then they did not know him well at all. Or maybe Cersei really did not know what Joffrey was doing. Pycelle might have sent the raven message unread at Joffrey's command, with Sandor Clegane looming over his shoulder. Things were getting out of hand in King's Landing. Three people writing to him, all with different words and different tones. Varys he trusted, to a certain extent. The Spider had loyally served all Kings. At least Tywin believed he did, but he never fully trusted Varys. Cersei was going from commanding queen to fawning daughter, looking for her father to save her. And Joffrey, well…he was no king. Not yet. They all needed a strong hand to whip them into shape. But he was needed here. He needed someone there to take things in hand.

As he thought on this his mind came back to his dwarf son. Tywin never understood why the gods had chosen to take his beloved wife from him and burden him with a dwarf for a son all in one moment. Perhaps it was for his hubris, from bringing Casterly Rock and his family from where his father had almost destroyed them to the heights of glory. This was his punishment, he often thought, to let him know he was not all powerful, that the gods were always watching and just when you thought all was well, they hit you, and they hit you hard. Since that terrible day, Tywin had little to do with the gods. He did not pray to them, but did not mock them either like some men who had lost loved ones did. He just chose to ignore them.

Tywin Lannister had admitted to himself a long time ago that he did not love his third child. Tyrion had taken his wife's life coming into this world, and as much as he at first blamed the gods he could also not help but blame Tyrion. Then his sad incident marrying the whore who was not a whore had ended all hope he could ever have of loving him. He knew that the girl was what Tyrion believed she was. Jaime had told him the whole truth, but she was low born and not worthy of his son, even a son as low as Tyrion was. After that he thought of banishing him across the Narrow Sea, or sending him to become a septon or even a maester since he loved his books so much, or anything else so he did not have to suffer having him around and having people laugh at him. Oh, he knew they laughed behind his back and if there was anything Tywin Lannister could not stand it was people laughing at him and his family. He had suffered enough of that when his father was still alive. Few people laughed at Tywin anymore. When wronged his wrath was legendary. As my father's should have been, he thought. But Tyrion was still there, and he knew people laughed at him, his son, which rankled Tywin to no end.

But in the end he decided he could not banish him or force him into a life as a septon or maester. He was still a son of Casterly Rock and most people who knew him well admired him in many ways. Tywin's brothers and sister had treated Tyrion as if nothing was wrong with him as he grew up, and said he was intelligent and had a sharp wit, which Tywin could not deny. Jaime loved his little brother, Tywin knew that well. But Cersei had despised him from the beginning, blaming him for her mother's death.

Where was Tyrion now? Lorch said he was on the Kingsroad heading south, but that was more than a week ago. He and his sellsword and wild men had taken Harrenhal to his surprise. Using the sewers was a brilliant coup to be sure, but Tywin felt he might have to take a small share of the glory in that, since it was he who had set Tyrion to unplug the cisterns and sewers of Casterly Rock when he turned into a man. Tywin was sure that's where he got the idea from. And now Tyrion wanted to make his pet sellsword Bronn a lord. Well, Lannisters paid their debts. This Bronn would get a small holdfast and some minor lord's ugliest or fattest or natural born daughter for his wife and he would be in Tywin's debt forever. That's how the world should work.

Now they were out there looking for Ned Stark. He needed Stark, much as he loathed to admit it. Tywin and Stark had never been friends. Tywin was almost twenty years his senior and had been Hand of the Mad King when Stark was still a boy. During Robert's Rebellion the Lannisters had come late to his cause, a point Stark never forgot. But he also forgot it had been left to Tywin and his son to do the dirty work in King's Landing before Stark and Robert arrived. Jaime had killed Aerys Targaryen, for which the realm had branded him Kingslayer. Tywin privately knew Jaime had done the right thing. Aerys would have burned the city to the ground. Stark and Robert also should have been grateful. But they were honorable men, and all they saw was Jamie's broken oath to protect the king, despite him being their enemy.

Now Stark was a traitor, a man who had broken his oaths when Robert had died. He needed to know the truth behind that madness as soon as Stark was found. But most of all Tywin needed Stark to get Jaime back. He also needed Stark's daughters, for Robb Stark would make no deals without getting all of his family back. Cersei mentioned nothing of the Stark girls in any of her recent letters. It might be time to send them from King's Landing to Harrenhal. Even if Tyrion did not find Ned Stark, he had to make Robb Stark some peace offer to get Jamie back and to free his forces to face the Baratheons.

As he thought on this his mind came back to the fourth letter, from Dragonstone. He opened it and saw it was addressed to Lady Whent from Stannis Baratheon. Tywin read and as he read his face grew white and he clenched his teeth together. He swiftly crumpled the paper and tossed it in the fireplace. Tywin stood and leaned with one arm against the fireplace mantle, breathing deeply, staring into the fire as its flames burned the crumpled paper with its lies written in maester's ink.

It was all lies, it had to be, Stannis' way to legitimize his claim to the Iron Throne. But he knew with dreaded certainty that Stannis had sent this same letter to every major house in the Seven Kingdoms. The ravens were now flying, bringing their ill news. News that would bring more shame to his house, despite its falsehood. The small folk would soon hear and they would eat it up. He was also sure Cersei and Joffrey knew of Stannis' accusations by now. King's Landing was much closer to Dragonstone than Harrenhal as the raven flies.

As he thought on this another knock came to the door. It was his breakfast, he thought, but he was in no mood to eat. Not now. The door opened and he was about to shout at the guard when his dwarf son waddled in the room.

"Tyrion," he said curtly and then he sat at his table. Tywin looked at his son closely. Tyrion was disheveled and dirty, his hair stiff and matted with sweat and grease, his chain mail a bit rusted, his clothing stained, his face tanned and his eyes very tried looking. He has just arrived and has hurried to see me, Tywin thought. He has news he wants to share. Good news. No one hurried to give bad news to their fathers.

"Father, it is good to see you, too," Tyrion replied. Before he could sit, the guard came in. "Sorry my lord, your breakfast is here."

"Take it away," Tywin commanded.

"No, please don't," his son said as he sat opposite Tywin. "I am famished and the road was long. We rode half the night to arrive here at the dawn." Tywin nodded to the guard and then a serving girl brought in a tray covered in dark bread, fried ham, boiled eggs, and small fried fish. "And some dark ale if you have it," Tyrion commanded her as she was leaving. He grabbed some bread and ham and ate.

"How was your journey?" Tywin asked as his son chewed rapidly.

"I have Ned Stark," Tyrion said with a grin after he swallowed.

That was the good news Tywin had expected to hear. "Well done. He is unharmed?"

"Aside from the broken leg Jaime gave him which is still healing, not a scratch. Well, maybe a few scratches. He had a fight or two. The road was not without its perils."

"Explain." Tyrion was about to talk again when the servant girl returned with a jug of ale and two large mugs which she placed on the table and left. Tywin poured for himself and his son as Tyrion talked. He told him the story as they drank and ate. Tywin even had some bread and a bit of ham, his appetite returning as the news of Ned Stark's recovery gave him some hope of freeing Jaime.

"Vargo Hoat is a vile beast," Tyrion said at one point, after explaining what had happened in a small village when Stark tried to save four boys gone missing from his Night's Watch group.

"I did not hire him or his company for their sweet dispositions."

"He wants to kill Stark."

"Over the loss of six men?"

"Loss of reputation I believe is more accurate. His men care not for Stark or your war. But the loss of some companions may irk them plenty. A commander of a free company who does not take care for what his men want is soon not a commander of a free company. If they come to Harrenhal there may be trouble."

"Hoat will do as he is ordered or he will hang, him and all of his men," Tywin told him in a stern tone. "Where is Stark now?"

"The maester is looking after him, checking his leg. Then I think a bath and shave and a change of clothes would be in order before you greet him."

Tywin could smell his son from across the table. "You need a bath as well."

"Yes, Father, but I believed you wanted to hear my news first."

"Which you have done."

"I am not quite finished."

"What else?"

Tyrion grinned. "I have Arya Stark."

Tywin looked at him for a long moment. Someone was telling him lies. "Indeed? That is good news."

Tyrion's face fell flat. "You knew she was missing?"

"I did not. Your sister seems to have forgotten that piece of news in her many messages asking for help. Varys as well. And you seem to have forgotten telling me about her in your tale of the road."

"I was saving the best for last."

"This is not a mummer's show. You will get no applause."

"I expected none, Father," Tyrion said in a flat tone.

"Explain how she went missing from King's Landing and ended up with her father."

"The girl was hiding in the Night's Watch party, disguised as a boy, in boy's clothes, with short hair, mud under her fingernails, the works. Yoren, the Night's Watch recruiter, is dead so I am not sure if it was his idea, or hers, or Ned Stark's. The Starks are not saying but no doubt Yoren had a hand in it. She left King's Landing with them, out the main gate, bold as could be. She almost died along with Stark when that fool Ser Marcus attacked them at the holdfast and later when Vargo Hoat found them in that village."

"Ser Marcus is dead you say so he has paid for his stupidity. Hoat, he is another matter. I shall deal with him when the time comes."

"Good. By the way, it was Cersei's orders which sent Ser Marcus after Stark."

He likes Cersei as much as she likes him, Tywin thought, and now he wants to blame her for this mess. "Yes, Ser Amory returned and told me this news. And now it is done. If there is nothing else…"

"One more thing," Tyrion said after a gulp of ale. "You may hear this from Ser Marcus' men who are with me so I may as well tell you. There was a party of gold cloaks following Yoren's group. Joffrey commanded them to find a certain boy and kill him. I sent them scurrying back to King's Landing."

Tywin stared at his son. "What boy?"

"Name of Gendry, an apprentice armorer by trade."

"Why should Joffrey care about such a boy?"

"You'd know if you saw him. He has…"

Tywin interrupted his son. "Get to the point."

"He's Robert's bastard."

Tywin snorted. "And Joffrey wants him dead?"

"Yes."

"Has the boy made a claim for the throne?" Tywin asked in a half serious tone. What foolish thing was Joffrey up to now, he thought.

Tyrion almost laughed but stopped himself. He knew Tywin despised laughter. "Of course not. How could he? He's a bastard."

"Quite. So, Joffrey wants him. Should we send him back to King's Landing? Or his head at least?"

Tywin was testing his son. He wanted to see how Tyrion would handle such a delicate matter. To defy the King was not a thing most men could stomach without fear of losing their heads. To be Hand of the King you had to do so on occasion, especially a King who was still a boy. His son stared at Tywin for a long moment before speaking. "Ned Stark would not take kindly to that. He has fought tooth and nail to save the boy thus far. He is his dear friend Robert's son after all. Promised him a position at Winterfell when all this is over."

That was a good answer. Knowing Ned Stark it was probable the truth. Tywin raised his eyebrows. "Oh? Well, we must keep Lord Stark happy. For the moment at least. Let the boy stay here and work and when this is over he can go where he pleases, I care not. As a bastard he has no claim. Though in the future Joffrey might come looking for him."

"Perhaps he shouldn't tarry at Winterfell for long. The Wall is where he was originally heading."

"Good, now, if…."

"How goes the war?"

Tywin knew his son would not be put off until he told him everything. He always craved news, lived for it some would say. So Tywin told him all he knew about the Baratheon brothers and Balon Greyjoy and Catelyn Stark and the news about Viserys' death. He left out the contents of Stannis' letter to Lady Whent. He still needed time to absorb that and it was not something he wanted to talk about with Tyrion anyway.

"A golden crown? How fitting," Tyrion quipped as he drained his mug of ale. "A shame Robert is not alive to hear this news."

"Yes."

"What news of Jaime?" his son asked next.

"None, except that he is still alive and a prisoner at Riverrun."

"Not a prisoner for long."

"Hopefully," Tywin answered, then looked at him carefully. "You are needed in King's Landing."

"Anxious to get rid of me so soon, Father? I just got here."

"Perhaps you feel you are not up to the job?"

Tyrion bristled at that. "I will leave when you command. But we need at least a few days to rest and re-supply."

"Of course."

Tywin then decided something he had been mulling over for days. "I may have another job for you before then."

His son looked intrigued. "Indeed?"

"I have been debating who to send with Lord Stark to Riverrun with my terms."

Tyrion blanched, taken off guard. "Father, you would give Robb Stark two of your sons as hostage?"

"You will ride under a peace banner," Tywin told him. "And we have Arya Stark here and Sansa Stark will soon join her. You will be in no danger."

"And meanwhile Renly and Stannis bear down on King's Landing. I think I would be of more use there."

"Perhaps. I need to think on it. The baths await you."

"Thank you for breakfast. The livable part of the castle is quite crowded but I am sure my men and I shall find quarters in some dusty wing of a falling down tower. Where shall I put Stark and his daughter?"

"In this tower, in Lady Whent's handmaiden's quarters. They have all gone with her to Maidenpoole."

That took him by surprise. "Maidenpoole? Are you sure?"

"Yes. The maester told us."

"So he lied to me but told you. Is that why his hand is bandaged?"

"Yes. You didn't try hard enough to get him to tell the truth."

Tyrion grimaced. "Shagga wanted to trim his nose but I'm an old softy, Father. I prefer to talk a man to death than torture him. I bid you good day."

"Have yourself, Lord Stark, and his daughter presentable for a mid-day meal here."

"As you command, Father."

The rest of the morning passed well. Tywin put aside Stannis' accusations from his mind and prepared to inspect his army. He dressed in his best armor and mounted his horse and inspected his men and then had a meeting with his commanders in a large tent outside the walls in the fresh air of his large army camp. Well, not so fresh air. A large army in camp gave new meaning to the word stench. Midden heaps and latrine trenches were the worst of it, but the stale stench of sweat from thousands of men and horse flesh also played a role. He had ordered the men to go in groups to Harrenhal's massive baths and had ordered their clothing and armor and weapons to be cleaned as much as possible. This not only helped maintain the men's health and morale it gave them things to do and an idle army was not something that stayed battle worthy for long. He had also sent out many patrols and had drill grounds and archery butts and melee pits set up so the men could stay fresh.

As he sat with his commanders, including his brother Kevan, Tywin first heard reports from his scouts about Roose Bolton and Robb Stark. Everything was still static on those two fronts. The only action was with Hoat and Gregor Clegane. Hoat had not managed to catch Dondarrion yet, one patrol captain reported. He had met Hoat's group south of Harrenhal two days past. Tywin told them what happened in the village between Hoat and Stark. One of his commanders said Tyrion should have used his force to help Hoat but Tywin silenced him with a stare and said that Tyrion's mission to bring Stark to Harrenhal safely was of more importance. Hoat and his men were banished from the castle's interior when they returned, Tywin told them. Let them camp far from Harrenhal's walls. Under no circumstances were Hoat and Ned Stark to come to blows. He told them to kill Hoat if it seemed that was about to come to pass.

Afterwards, he commanded Ser Jason Matigar to come to his solar. He questioned Ser Jason at length about his adventures with Tyrion and it all seemed as Tyrion had said. Except Ser Jason was mystified as to why Ned Stark had taken off in the middle of the night to find four boys. He did not know one of the "boys" was Stark's daughter or that another was Robert's bastard son. Good. Tyrion at least had the sense not to let that news spread.

"Tell me how my son behaved," Tywin ordered Ser Jason as he finished asking about the details of the trip.

"Lord Tyrion commanded in a forceful manner and earned the respect of all under his command."

Of course he would not say anything negative about his lord commander's son. "Yes, yes. But tell me the details. What did he do at night, for instance?"

"I know not, my lord. I supped with my knights and men. Lord Tyrion supped with his sellsword and then with Lord Stark once we found him. On one occasion I drank wine with Lord Tyrion but he seemed more inclined not to have his subordinates as companions. Except for the sellsword."

Tywin sensed Ser Jason did not like Bronn but that was not important. "Did my son have any women? Any whores?"

"Ah…I'm not sure, my lord. I think it not wise to inquire too closely into my commander's personal affairs."

"No, of course not," Tywin said. "You may leave, Ser Jason. You did well. But I want you and your men to be refreshed, refitted, and re-supplied as soon as possible. I may have another mission for you."

"Yes, my lord."

After he was gone Tywin thought on his son's behavior. Ser Jason seemed indifferent about Tyrion but said nothing negative about him as well. Of course, maybe he feared to tell Tywin the truth. Maybe his son had drunken whores with him every night. There was no point in asking Bronn or the wild men. They seemed to have a certain loyalty to his son, despite being paid warriors. Tyrion did have a certain gift for making people follow him, no doubt. He thought on questioning Podrick Payne about what had gone on but knew he would most likely trip over his tongue and lie as well. Tyrion no doubt had won his loyalty as well.

The mid-day meal time came and Tywin had the cooks lay on a good meal of roast pork glazed with honey, boiled potatoes, barley and venison soup, a salad of greens and beans, and plenty of bread, wine and ale, with water for the Stark girl.

They arrived with Tyrion after he sent a messenger summoning them. All three were clean and presentable. Ned Stark had not bothered shaving and had a full growth of beard but he was clean at least and dressed in some common black colored clothing someone had lent him. The Stark girl had very short hair and was short as well, very thin and with a face like her father's. She was in a pale blue dress, too big for her, and had a bit of a sour look on her face, as if she wanted to be somewhere else

"May I present Lord and Lady Stark," said Tyrion theatrically as they entered the solar. He was refreshed and dressed well in doublet and breeches in Lannister red and gold.

"I've know your father for almost twenty years," Ned Stark said to Tyrion, while looking at Tywin. "No need for introductions. Lord Tywin."

"Lord Stark," Tywin said with a curt nod. They did not bother to shake hands. Stark and the northerners might enjoy that custom coupled with a clap on the shoulder but Tywin Lannister never did and Stark knew this. Besides, they were enemies now. Tywin turned his attention to the girl. "And this must be Lady Arya Stark."

"Yes, my lord," she said in a strong voice, staring right at him. Not afraid this child, he thought. Or was she mad at him?

"Please sit. Let's eat. We have much to discus."

"Aye," said Stark as he limped to the table and sat on Tywin's right side, his daughter next to him and Tyrion across from Ned Stark on Tywin's left side. Two servants entered and poured wine and water and served the venison soup.

After they left Tywin spoke. "Your leg is healing I trust?" he asked Stark.

"Aye."

"Your son broke it," Arya Stark said sharply.

"Arya!" Ned Stark said just as sharply. "Hold your tongue or you'll leave."

"Sorry," she mumbled.

"Quite all right," said Tywin. "She is correct. My son did break your leg. And now your son holds him prisoner."

"And now you hold us and Sansa prisoner," Stark said as he torn a chunk of bread from a loaf and dipped it in his soup.

"Not for long," Tyrion said after he drank some wine.

"No," said Tywin. "I will write to King's Landing today to order Cersei to bring Sansa here. Soon this sad event will be behind us and we will have peace. In the north at least. I will give you my terms in private later, Lord Stark. But we must first discuss several things."

"I'm listening."

"I would like to know why you tried to take the Iron Throne."

"I did not try to take the throne," Stark said firmly. "On his deathbed Robert commanded me to be Protector of the Realm after his death, to help rule until Joffrey came of age."

That was news to Tywin. He looked at his son who shrugged slightly. He had no idea as well. "How did Robert make this command?" Tywin asked.

"A letter, signed by Robert and sealed with his sigil. Witnessed by Pycelle and Renly. Ser Barristan Selmy saw the letter unopened, the seal intact. He opened it after Robert died and read the letter before Pycelle and Littlefinger and Varys. They all heard the contents, King Robert's last command. If you know one man to be true it is Barristan Selmy. He will tell you the truth of its existence. When I gave the letter to your daughter, she tore it up in my face and in front of the whole court. That's when the killing began."

"After you ordered her, Joffrey and her other children arrested," Tywin said, bristling.

"Oh? She told you that much at least," said Stark as he drank some wine. "Left out the most important parts, such as why I ordered them taken into custody, I am sure."

Tywin suddenly sensed that he did not know all that had gone on in King's Landing besides this issue of Robert's last command. He needed more information. "Let us leave that for the moment. Now I wish to know why your wife arrested my son."

"He tried to kill…" Arya started but her father silenced her with a glare. "Sorry," she mumbled again as she took a spoonful of soup.

Tyrion sighed and looked at his father. "Lord Stark and I have discussed this endlessly. They still believe I tried to kill Brandon Stark."

"A falsehood," Tywin said strongly. "Tyrion had no reason to kill your son."

"No?" said Stark. "I think he might have."

"Oh? And what reason would that be?" Tywin asked and Tyrion sucked in his breath, raised his eyebrows, seemed about to speak but held his tongue, a very unusual move on his part. Something was not right here. Something Tyrion forgot to tell me. Or was afraid to tell me.

Stark put on his stern northern face. "I will not discuss such foulness in front of my daughter."

Tywin had raised his wine cup to his lips but stopped and put it down. Tyrion had cast his eyes down to his food and said nothing, like he used to do when he was a boy and had done something wrong. The Stark girl was sitting with eyes wide open, waiting to hear about this foulness her father did not want her to hear about. Tywin stared hard at Ned Stark and Stark stared back just as hard. He suddenly knew Stark knew what Stannis had said in his letter to Lady Whent. He knew that Tyrion knew also and was afraid to bring it up. "What has Stannis Baratheon told you?"

Stark snorted. "Oh, so you do know the most important part? What Stannis knew was nothing I couldn't see with my own eyes once they were opened. I've laid eyes on one of Robert's true sons. Jon Arryn laid eyes on him." He was talking about Robert's bastard, the one they brought from King's Landing. "Jon Arryn knew," Stark continued. "I know. Your son right here knows. And if Stannis is the man I think he is he will soon tell the whole realm."

Stannis already has, the message to Lady Whent proof of it. Tywin breathed deeply. "A falsehood. A lie to serve Stannis' claim to the throne." He was losing control of this conversation and did not like that one bit.

"Aye, maybe I would believe that if I did not know the real truth," Stark replied. "My son Bran saw them at their crime. At Winterfell, the day of the hunt. They pushed him off the tower. Then Tyrion paid someone to silence Bran before he awoke and told us the truth."

"Not me," said Tyrion strongly. But Tywin also saw that Tyrion did not try to defend his brother and sister.

"As you continue to say," Stark said to Tyrion before he drank some wine. Tywin looked from one to the other and then to Arya. The little Stark girl had her spoon half way to her mouth but she was not eating. She was listening intently, and he guessed most of this was news to her. Perhaps it had been a bad idea to have her here for this first meeting. He turned his attention back to her father. "Let us put aside your and Stannis' accusations for the moment. What I want to know is why your wife accused my son? What is her evidence that the dagger belonged to him?"

"Baelish," said Tyrion in disgust.

"Baelish?"

"Aye, Baelish,' Stark echoed. "He told Catelyn and me that the dagger used to attack my son was Tyrion's."

Tywin growled. "Baelish." That was something else Tyrion had forget to mention.

Just then the servants returned and started to take away the soup dish. Arya Stark shouted at the servant as she rapidly spooned up her soup.

"Hey! I'm not done!"

Tywin looked at her. "Not to worry child, there is plenty more to come." The girl then let the servant take her soup bowl and then carved glazed pork was served with the salad and potatoes. Tywin ate some and the others did as well, the girl eating as if she had not been feed in days. "Hasn't my son taken care to feed you on the road?" he asked her.

"Yes, my lord, but it was mostly bad cheese, salted fish and meat, and hard bread."

"Our supplies barely held out," Tyrion told his father. "We had so many extra mouths to feed."

As they continued to eat Tyrion told a story about the time he was a boy and Jaime had tricked him into eating what he thought was beef but turned out to be dog. He said it was quite tasty and wanted more when Jaime started making growling and barking sounds and told him the truth. Arya laughed loudly at the story as Tyrion made funny faces and noises. For once Tywin let his son play the fool as his mind was on what to do about Baelish. He let them eat some more as he picked at his food and thought on this and on what the realm was learning about his first son and only daughter. A monstrous infamy. It couldn't be true. But Stark believed it was. And Tyrion knew something but he was afraid to say it.

Then Stark admonished his daughter to slow down eating and she did, just a bit.

"Where did you get your dress, Lady Stark?" Tywin asked her to break the silence.

"It was left by one of Lady Whent's handmaidens. It's too big," she said as she pulled up a sleeve. "And please call me Arya, my lord. I am not a lady."

She was quite bold. He almost smiled at that. Smiles came rare to Tywin Lannister. He did not trust people who smiled too much. "Of course you are a lady," he replied. "Someday you will marry a lord and…"

"No," she said firmly. "Never. I will ride a horse and.."

"Arya!" her father said sharply. "I think it is time you went off and got some rest. Lord Tywin and I have serious things to discuss, things not for your ears. Did you eat enough?"

"Yes," she said just as she wolfed down another piece of potato.

Tywin turned to his son. "Tyrion, please escort Lady Stark…Arya…to her quarters."

"Thank you for this food, my lord," she said as she stood and dipped her head in respect.

This time a slight smile did come to his mouth, unwittingly. "You're welcome."

"I want to go to the armory," she then told Tyrion.

Tywin looked at her in puzzlement. "Why?"

"Gendry is fixing Needle."

"Gendry…oh yes," said Tywin. But now he was puzzled. "What is an armorer doing fixing your needles?"

"Needle," her father said with a sigh. "It's a sword. A dirk."

"My sword," Arya told Tywin proudly. "It got nicked in the fight at the holdfast when I killed a gold cloak. Must have nicked it on his chain mail when I stabbed him in the back. My lord."

Tyrion gaped at her as Tywin also looked at her in astonishment. Ned Stark took hold of his daughter's shoulders and glared at her. "Arya, don't be telling that story to anyone else. Least of all your mother when we finally see her again."

"She's at Riverrun," Tyrion said.

Tywin winced a bit. He was saving that news for Stark himself.

"Aye?" said Stark, surprised. "That is good to hear."

"When will we go there?" Arya asked her father, a sense of longing in her voice.

"When Sansa gets here," he told her gently. "First I have to go talk to Robb."

"When?"

"A day or two," Tywin told her. "Then all this will be over and you can go home to Winterfell." He looked at his son sharply and nodded towards the door.

"Come Lady Stark…" Tyrion began.

"Arya, my lord," she told him boldly.

"Arya," he said with a grin. "Let us find your apprentice armorer and your Needle. Come to think of it, he promised to fix my armor as well." And then they left.

A silence lingered for a few moments. Tywin had to ask. "Did she really kill a gold cloak?"

"Aye," Stark said heavily and he could see it pained him. "Two, if what the other boys say is true. And a stable boy in King's Landing when she escaped from your men. My little girl a killer because of what your daughter started."

Now he was glaring at Tywin and Tywin glared back. "She did not start this war. Your wife did when she took Tyrion hostage."

Stark nodded. "That may be. But it all goes back to what happened in Winterfell. And Baelish gave us the information that caused Catelyn to believe Tyrion paid the assassin, whether it is true or not. Baelish is playing his own game. I want to see Baelish's head on a spike."

Tywin couldn't agree more. "He shall be arrested forthwith and the truth gotten from him. The raven shall leave this afternoon."

"Good," Stark said with a sense of some satisfaction. Then he looked at Tywin. "Stannis has written to you, hasn't he?"

Tywin sighed deeply, wanted to avoid this topic but Stark would not let it go. "He has written to Lady Whent, whose letters I now get."

"It's true," Stark said quietly. "I fear it is true, terrible as it is to hear such news."

Tywin felt his blood rising. "Stannis Baratheon is not the true king. Joffrey is!" His last words came out in a shout.

"Your son warned me not to mention this. Said you would not take it well. He knows the truth. Why can't you see it? Let's end this madness before winter comes and we are all doomed."

Tywin snorted and put on his formal commander's face again. "We are not here to discuss my family history, Lord Stark. Now to terms."

"Aye," Stark said resignedly as he poured more wine for himself. "I'm listening."

"You will go to your son under an escort and a peace banner. First order of business, Jaime will be exchanged for you and your daughters."

"If Robb agrees."

"You will make him agree."

"I am not the Lord of Winterfell anymore. Your daughter striped me of all titles."

"You're his father. He will listen."

"Do your children always listen to you?"

Tywin bristled again. "You will make him listen to reason."

Stark nodded. "I can only try."

"Good. Now, second. His armies are to return to the north."

"What of the Tullys of Riverrun and the Freys and the other families that are allied with him?"

"All will swear fealty to Joffrey or will be destroyed."

"Including Robb?"

"Yes."

"He will not go to King's Landing. My family knows the folly of that now more than ever."

"He can take his oath at Riverrun to me or Jaime. Joffrey may not like it but I am sure he will accept it."

"If you somehow manage to defeat Stannis and Renly, then some day that boy king will be a man. He will want his revenge on Robb," Stark said. "And you are not known for being forgiving to those that wrong you."

"I have never taken kindly to those that wrong me. This is well known," Tywin told him without really needing to. "I would offer you a pact of peace in writing, but after Cersei's folly I think you would not trust anything on paper to be permanent."

"Never again."

"What would be acceptable?"

"A hostage."

Tywin grunted, taken a bit off guard. "We are about to exchange hostages now to end this war. You want more hostages?"

"Just one. Myrcella or Tommen."

Tywin felt his blood rising again. He had not expected this. "Tommen is heir to the throne."

"Not truly."

That made his anger worse. "If we are to discuss this rationally you will stop making accusations about my grandchildren's parentage this instant."

Stark paused and then nodded. "Aye. They are still your grandchildren. That is enough to hold you to your word. Then Myrcella will come to Winterfell. She will be well cared for and can be a friend to Arya and Sansa. May our two houses someday heal this wound with their friendship."

Tywin did not like it but had to play along for now. "And who will you give us in return?"

"No one," Stark said calmly. "None of my family will ever set foot south of the Neck ever again as long as I live."

"Then you shall have no grandchild of mine as hostage!"

"Then the war will continue," Stark said sternly.

Tywin stood and his face turned red and he glared at Stark. "I have your two daughters and you!"

Stark stood as well. "Aye. And if they must die then I will have them die with me here. My wife and sons will grieve, but the realm will know you for the monsters you and your family are and the north will not forget or forgive. And you forget that Robb has your son as well. I think Cersei will give up her son or daughter. If she loves Ser Jaime the way I know she loves him, she will give us one of her children to free their true father."

Tywin felt himself lose control, and for a brief instant he almost struck Stark. But he controlled himself and said nothing.

Stark drained his cup of wine. "I'll be in my quarters," he said. "Let me know if you change your mind."

He then turned and limped out of the solar without another word. Tywin sat, and did nothing for a long time but think and think and think. The servants came and took away the dishes and he said nothing and still he sat.

Finally it came to him. Finally he knew what he had to do. Oh, I will give you want you want Lord Stark, he said to himself. But the road north is long and perilous. Who knows what could happen between here and Winterfell? If he gave him Myrcella, she would come with a Kingsguard and a royal escort, to protect her on the road north. That should suffice to protect the child.

Now all Tywin needed was someone to betray Stark. From a shelf he took down a map of the Riverlands and the north. He looked at the map of the roads leading north and the north itself. Who would do such a thing to their precious Ned? Someone who felt wronged by him in some way. Or someone who always wanted more. His eyes fell on the Dreadfort. The Boltons were no life long friends of the Starks. Maybe. And then his eyes fell on the Twins. Walder Frey always wanted more, and felt slighted when he got nothing in Robert's Rebellion. Varys' spies told him that Robb Stark had to promise himself and little Arya in marriage to two of Frey's children or grandchildren for use of his bridge and his soldiers. But maybe a royal marriage would be more to his liking. Maybe then Walder Frey would take care of his Stark problem for good.


	11. Chapter 11 Sansa

**Ned Stark Lives! Chapter 11 Sansa**

All of Sansa Stark's hopes and dreams had been torn apart in the last few weeks and sometimes she thought her heart would break in two from all the pain and humiliations she had suffered. Her father was accused of being of being a traitor and then had been forced to confess his crimes in front of the realm. Afterwards, when the rocks of the crowd had forced them back into the Sept of Baelor she had barely time to hug him once and say she loved him before the Lannister guards parted them and her father was dragged away. He was to join the Night's Watch, but she didn't know if that was true or another Lannister lie. Everything else had been a lie, after all she had done for them. All she had done for Joffrey. But even his love had been a lie. He was a monster. And now she had the bruises to prove it.

Sansa sat at a dressing table in her rooms in the Hand's Tower early in the morning. She was unclothed except for her small clothes. As she sat staring at her image in a Myrish looking glass on the table she saw the bruises. One was just above her right breast, another on her left shoulder. She looked down at her legs and there were two more large ones, one on each thigh, now turning an ugly purple color. All from a member of Joffrey's Kingsguard who had hit her on Joffrey's command as he sat back and laughed. Punishment he said, for her brother's and mother's and father's crimes.

The day before had been Joffrey's name day. There was a celebration and feast at night, meager celebrations compared to those when King Robert was alive. But the worst was the jousting tournament held in the day. It was held inside the castle, the Queen worried for her son's safety if it was held outside the city as Sansa father's tournament had been. Outside the walls of King's Landing a crowd was growing every day, a crowd of small folk fleeing from war in the Riverlands. They were scared and hungry and what little food they had brought with them was soon gone. They were getting restless and posed a danger to anyone leaving the city. Little food as coming in, the Roseroad closed with Highgarden now an enemy, the Riverlands were on fire, and Blackwater Bay was closed by Stannis Baratheon's ships at Dragonstone. Sansa heard all of this from one of the Kingsguard, Ser Ayrs Oakheart, who liked to talk to her when he was sure no one else was around to listen.

The field for the jousting was weak that day, and Joffrey had grown angrier as the poor hedge knights, old men, and young squires made a poor showing of jousting. Then one knight, Ser Dontos, showed up half naked and drunk and Joffrey ordered him drown in a barrel of wine for his insolence. Sansa thought to say something to help the man but her tongue caught in her throat and he was dragged away begging for Joffrey's mercy. She did not know what became of him.

That night after the King's birthday feast she had been summoned to his quarters. He had been sullen during the feast and drank too much wine. Then during the middle of it Grand Maester Pycelle had come into the hall and spoke with Queen Cersei. She at once told the assembled guests that she and the King were retiring but that the guests may stay as long as they liked. They cheered Joffrey's health once more and he drank in return, a puzzled look on his face as he followed his mother and Pycelle from the hall, with Lords Baelish and Varys close behind them, the Hound and the other Kingsguard following in turn.

An hour later she was about to leave the hall to go back to her quarters when the Hound approached her and commanded she follow him. The King wanted to see her at once. At his quarters Ser Meryn Trant was there and the Hound stayed as well. She thought Joffrey might have called her to forgive her for what her family had done, to say he still loved her and that she would soon be his bride. But he was drunk, and had only ranted and raved about her family's crimes. And then he told Ser Meryn to hit her, but not in the face. Ser Meryn did so without a second thought, and Sansa was too shocked to even raise her hands to resist. Four times he had struck her, the first two to the chest and shoulder and she had then fallen whimpering to the carpets. The second two were vicious kicks to her legs, so painful she screamed.

The Hound had stood by and done nothing but after the fourth blow he growled loudly. "Enough!" Ser Meryn stopped and Joffrey stared at the Hound for a few long seconds, terrible seconds where Sansa thought blood would fly.

"Get yourself and your crying bitch out of my sight dog!" Joffrey said at last, his drunken voice full of venom.

The Hound had said nothing and then helped her up and took her back to her quarters. As they walked she could not help but cry.

"Soon no more tears, little bird," he had said in his rough voice as they walked. "Soon the little bird will be released from her cage. You will leave King's Landing. Does that make you happy?"

Was this some sort of trap, she had thought. "I will be Joffrey's wife. I must stay here."

"Little bird still singing the same song," the Hound had said with almost a snarl. He then stopped her and glared at her in the darkness as they neared the Hand's Tower. "You will never be his bride."

Sansa had not known what to say except to sing the same song as before. "I am betrothed to my beloved Joffrey."

He grunted. "Not anymore little bird. You will go to Harrenhal soon. The ravens are flying and the Queen is crying. But not you anymore, I am sure."

He had been playing some cruel game with her, Sansa thought, some cruel game Joffrey had ordered him to play, to see where her true loyalties lay. "I don't want to go to Harrenhal. I want to stay here and marry my…"

This time he laughed, and his laughter had been vicious. "They trained you bloody well. I don't care if you believe me or not. Soon you will know."

"How do you know?"

"These lords and ladies talk and no one sees the Hound listening. They don't see him because he is nobody to them except a dog to guard their homes and royal persons."

With that he had said no more and had taken her back to the Hand's Tower and soon she was back in her rooms with two Lannister men outside her door as usual.

Now it was the next morning. As Sansa sat and looked at her bruises and felt aches in her legs a loud knock came to the door. "I am undressed," she said quickly and loudly. "Do not enter."

"Hurry up and put on your best feathers," came the Hound's growl. "The Queen commands your presence."

"A moment," was all she said and she started to dress. She had already washed her face and combed her hair. Sansa had many pretty clothes and selected her lavender dress with pink ribbons and flowery patterns, and then slipped on a pair of light pink shoes. She brushed her hair once more and then opened the door.

The Hound was in his black chain mail armor as usually with his white cloak and all his weapons. She had never seen him dressed any other way. He stared at her for a long moment and said nothing but she could not bear his scarred face and turned her eyes away. Suddenly she felt ashamed that she could not look at him after what he had done for her the night before, telling Ser Meryn to stop and suffering Joffrey's anger for her. Slowly she returned her eyes to his face. His eyes were on her and it was hard to read what was there. Not the leer Littlefinger gave her, or the pitying looks she got from Lord Varys the few times she saw him or the angry look that Joffrey always had now. There was nothing there in the Hound's eyes. He was dead inside.

"I am ready," she said at last.

"Come," was all he said. She followed him down the stairs and then across the courtyard toward the main part of the Red Keep. The two Lannister guardsmen that had been outside her door came as well but they soon marched off in a different direction. Sansa thought she was being taken to the Queen's private rooms, but soon they were heading towards the throne room. Two gold cloaks opened the doors and Sansa tensed up, expecting that Joffrey would be there as well but the throne room was empty. They crossed its vast expanse and as they did so Sansa looked up at the barbed Iron Throne and secretly hoped Joffrey cut himself to ribbons on it some day. After what had happened last night she had no illusions that he still loved her. She knew she could never love him again.

The Hound stopped by the door to another room, the small council room Sansa knew. Ser Boros Blount was outside and he opened the door and they entered. Cersei, Lord Baelish, Lord Varys, and Grand Maester Pycelle were all present in the room sitting at the table, with a map and some scrolls of paper there as well. A man she did not know, a Lannister man in Lannister colors and armor, but without weapons, stood nearby, standing very still, a soldier waiting for an order. She silently said a small thanks to the gods that Joffrey was not here.

"The Stark girl, Your Grace," the Hound announced.

"Thank you, Clegane," the Queen said. Sansa had wondered what the Queen would call him. She couldn't call him 'ser' because he was not a knight. He was not a lord either, and it would not be fitting for her to call him 'dog' like her son or 'the Hound" as most people did behind his back and sometimes to his face. Clegane was his surname and so he was Clegane to her. He turned to leave but the Queen stopped him. "Stay. You need to hear this as well."

"Yes, Your Grace," the Hound said and now Sansa really wondered what was happening.

"How are you, little dove?' Cersei asked her politely.

"I am well, Your Grace." A lie, but she couldn't very well tell the Queen that her son was a monster who had ordered his men to beat her.

"Good. Come closer. We have much to discuss."

Sansa approached the table, the Hound right behind her. As Sansa got a good look at Queen Cersei's face it seemed she was exhausted or had been upset by something. Maybe both.

Sansa did not sit as she had not been asked to. She gave polite hellos to the others, and felt her skin crawl as Littlefinger leered in his creepy way. How could my mother ever be friends with him, Sansa thought. She had heard he owned half the brothels in King's Landing. And her friend Jeyne Poole had been sent to him to take care of but she had not heard a word about what had happened to her in over two weeks. Nor did she know exactly what happened to her father's household members and especially her sister Arya. Nobody had told her anything. She feared they were all dead. Except Arya, maybe. Yoren had said he heard she was just missing. But that could also mean she was dead.

Cersei nodded to Lord Varys and he spoke to Sansa. "Sansa, dear, you will be leaving King's Landing soon."

That surprised her. Was the Hound really telling the truth? She had to pretend he had never said anything to her. "Where will I go, my lord?"

"To Harrenhal," Varys told her. "To be with your father and sister."

Sansa felt a shock run through her. "My father and…sister? Arya is at Harrenhal?"

"Yes," said Lord Baelish. "Seems she slipped out of the city without anyone being the wiser." As he said this he cast a grin at Lord Varys.

"Your sister was very resourceful," Pycelle told her in his slow deep growl. "She left the city with a party of Night's Watch recruits, the same party your father was in."

Cersei took up the tale. "The exact details we do not know. The road they traveled was dangerous but fortunately my brother Tyrion found them before any harm came to them and took them to Harrenhal where my father is now in command. You will join them."

Sansa felt excited and wanted to smile but held it in. "But I am to wed the King, Your Grace."

Cersei looked at her carefully. "Would you like that?"

"With all my heart, Your Grace."

"Sorry to have to break your heart then," Cersei told her, her tone of voice almost emotionless. "The betrothal has been set aside by the High Septon."

Sansa felt a range of mixed emotions but could only ask one question. "Why?"

"Your father is a traitor," Cersei stated flatly. "Your marriage arrangement with my son was made by his father with your father in good faith, believing your father was an honorable man. That is not true now, is it?"

She knew what to say here. "No, Your Grace. I know he is a traitor."

"Good. We cannot have the King married to the daughter of a confessed traitor. Joffrey was reluctant to part with you but will do his duty for the realm. You and your sister and father will be sent to Riverrun to your brother and then his army will march north and we will have peace between our houses again."

"That is good, Your Grace," was all Sansa could think to say. She wanted to leap with joy but restrained herself.

Now Cersei's face clouded a bit. "You will have a companion on the road. Princess Myrcella will join you in Harrenhal and then Winterfell."

That took her by surprise. "That…that would be nice, Your Grace."

Cersei snorted. "Yes, for you and your father at least." Sansa did not know what she meant and so said nothing. "Myrcella is fond of you, she tells me. When I told her this news she cried at first but now she is looking forward to the journey. She actually liked Winterfell when we were there last. As befitting her rank as a royal princess she will have a royal guard." Cersei turned to the man in Lannister colors. "This is Ser Robyn Serrett. He and fifty men will accompany you as far as Harrenhal."

"Thank you for doing this, Ser Robyn," Sansa said to him. He was taller and older than her father she guessed, with black hair going to grey and a thick mustache and trim beard with flecks of grey as well.

The man smiled briefly. "I will make sure no harm comes to you or the princess, Lady Stark."

Cersei continued speaking. "Now, as a royal princess Myrcella also needs a royal guardsman to stay with her in Winterfell." She looked past Sansa to the Hound. "Clegane, you will go with them and continue on to Winterfell and stay with Myrcella as long as she needs you."

Sansa didn't know what to think as she heard this. The Hound in Winterfell? He was so dour and full of anger. But maybe better him than one of the others, especially the one who had hit her.

The Hound was a silent for a moment before speaking. "As Your Grace commands," was all he said.

Lord Baelish smiled. "Not to worry Clegane, the King will be well guarded in your absence. In fact, when this issue was put before him this morning he said he cared not where you went. Has the King's dog ruffled his feathers?"

The Hound snarled at Littlefinger. "How would you like me to ruffle yours, whoremaster?"

"Stop this!" Cersei said in a commanding tone. "The King said that Sandor Clegane was his most loyal and trustworthy guard and would feel better if he protected his sister on the journey."

"A wise decision," said Pycelle.

The Hound said nothing and Sansa choose this moment to ask a question. "When will we leave, Your Grace?"

"Soon. A few days time at most. There are details to take care of. Nothing for you to worry about. Now you may…"

"Your Grace, forgive me, but I was wondering about my friend Jeyne Poole."

Cersei was taken aback. "I don't seem to recall this friend."

"You gave her to me to protect," said Lord Baelish with a slimy smile and then he turned to Sansa. "She has decided to stay in King's Landing."

Sansa knew this couldn't be true. "But her father will want her to come back to Winterfell."

"Her father is dead," Lord Varys said with a sad shake of his head.

"Dead?" Sansa gasped.

Cersei cast her eyes away and then back to Sansa. "Yes, dear. It grieves me to tell you this but the members of your father's house tried to resist when he was arrested. They are all dead."

"All?" She had known there was fighting but had held out hope that someone had survived. She couldn't believe they were all dead except her and Jeyne. She had known them all her life.

Lord Baelish spoke up quickly. "Jeyne has told me she has nothing to return to the north for. She has decided to stay here and work as my assistant. She has some knowledge of ledgers and sums, seeing as her father was steward of Winterfell. I will train her well and she will have a good life here."

Sansa knew that was a lie. Jeyne was as bad as her at ledgers and sums. Arya had been the one with a head for sums, knowing how many bushels of wheat came from so many acres of land and how many jugs of ale ten barrels held, things that made Sansa and Jeyne get headaches.

"That is most kind of you, Lord Baelish," Sansa said, her voice a bare whisper as she felt like crying. "May I ask leave to see her before I part King's Landing?"

Lord Baelish smiled. "Of course. I will send someone to fetch you in the afternoon."

"Thank you, my lord."

"That is all, little dove," Cersei said in a gentle tone. "I am not sure of the day of your departure yet, but it will be soon and I shall see you again before you leave. Please escort Lady Stark back to her quarters, Clegane."

"Yes, Your Grace," the Hound said and he turned without another word. Sansa bowed and soon followed him, not daring to look back, her mind a mix of emotions, heartbroken at the dreaded news that her father's household members were all dead, but also happy that she would soon be leaving this cursed place. She would never return, she knew, and Winterfell would be her home now. Later her father would find her a proper husband… no, not her father. He was going to the Wall. Robb was Lord of Winterfell now. He would find her a proper husband, a good man, who would be kind to her and love her and never hit her. Sansa didn't care if he was a knight or a lord, as long as he was tall and handsome and was a good man. And never hit her.

As they walked the Hound suddenly cursed. "Fucking Winterfell!"

"Sorry?"

"Too bloody cold," was all he said. "What are your father's words?"

"Winter is coming," she told him.

"And too bloody soon, little bird. The long summer will end soon the small folk are saying in the wine sinks and pot shops. I hope your father has plenty of wine stored in Winterfell."

She had no idea how much wine there was, but she knew what he meant. "You shouldn't drink so much."

He laughed a bit. "All men shouldn't drink so much. But we do."

"Why?"

"To celebrate, to relax, to enjoy each others company. But mostly to forget and to drive away the pain."

She knew what he was talking about. The night of the feast at her father's tournament the Hound had been drunk and he told her how he had gotten his scars. He had then threatened to kill her if she had ever told that story to anyone. Since then she had been terrified of him. Now he was coming to Winterfell for a long time. At least now she could talk to him without fear he would hit her. Last night seemed to prove that. Maybe. Maybe she would have some scars if he hadn't said anything last night. Maybe Joffrey had really let him go, had sent him away, to protect his sister, but maybe that was not the real reason.

"Joffrey is mad at you, isn't he? For helping me last night?"

"Fuck Joffrey," he said with a low snarl and she was so shocked she couldn't say anything. Soon they were at the Hand's Tower and two new Lannister guards were there and they escorted her to her rooms.

Finally alone, she could grin and laugh a bit, knowing she would soon be free. But then she thought on those who had died and grew sad and for a long time Sansa lay on her bed and did not move. Food came for her midday meal, and she nibbled on some cheese and bread, and ate the weak barley soup. Not long after the Hound reappeared at her door.

"Come little bird, Lord Littlefinger has said you can see your friend."

"Why did Lord Baelish send you?" she asked as they walked away from the Hand's Tower, the two Lannister guardsmen following close behind. "I mean…you don't work for him as well, do you?"

He growled. "Not for the bloody whoremaster. He did not send me. The Queen has asked me to guard you, so I am guarding you. I go where you go."

They left the Red Keep area by a gate and were soon in the streets of the city, heading downhill. The Hound stepped closer to her and the two Lannister men crowded close behind. Many people were in the streets, going about their business, but Sansa felt their eyes on her, and felt their anger. Was she to blame for being high born and having what they did not? No, but she understood why they were angry. The world was divided between high born and small folk and few moved up in the world. A man may become a knight with valor on the battlefield, but he was burdened by his family name and history. Unless he could change that history, like some of the heroes in the books she loved, who had saved a maiden or did some other great deed and they had risen far above their low born status.

As they passed the people in the streets some merchants shouted for her to stop and check out their wares, while others spit on the ground as she passed, and still others held out their hands, begging for coins or food. The Hound growled at them all and told them to leave her be or he would cut off their hands.

"Curse the whoremaster!" he said as they turned a corner. "He should have brought the girl to the castle to say goodbye to you!"

After a bit they arrived at an archway and stepped through. Inside was a small courtyard and there were five young women here, barely dressed, sitting on stone benches around a small fountain. They stopped their talking as Sansa, the Hound and the two guards came in.

One buxom blond stood and looked at the Hound, not afraid of his scars the way Sansa was. "Oh, aren't you a big lad. Are you big all over?"

"Sit down and shut your bloody mouth whore, before I make it bloody for real," the Hound growled at her and the woman laughed. "Feisty. I like that." But she did sit down again.

"Where is the whoremaster?" the Hound growled at them all.

"Here," said Lord Baelish as he came out of a doorway. "Sansa, please come in. Your dog and his pups can stay here."

"Not bloody likely," said the Hound. "Where she goes, I go."

Lord Baelish gave a small grin. "As you wish. But the others stay here."

The Hound told the other two guards to remain there but not to sample the wares, whatever that meant. Soon Sansa and he were inside, following Lord Baelish up some stairs to an upper level. There were more women in here and several men were seen entering rooms and Sansa knew with certainty this was a brothel.

"You've got some bloody gall, Littlefinger," the Hound said in his rough voice. "Making me bring the girl to your whore's den."

"Sandor, my friend," said Lord Baelish in a sort of mocking way. "How have I wronged you?"

"Don't like you, that's all," said the Hound. "Never have."

"But you like my whores enough."

"Shut your bloody mouth."

Sansa knew what he meant. The Hound must be one of Lord Baelish's customers. Sansa was not a child. She knew what men and women did in bed together. She knew what whores were for. The Hound was a man, and all men needed a woman, so Jeyne had said once and they had laughed and giggled and talked about what boys in Winterfell they liked, but Sansa knew she would never marry one of them. She knew her father would make her a match with some lord's son. She had never dreamed it would be the King's son. For weeks she had walked on air. But all that had turn to ashes and she had come back to the harsh reality of the world.

"Well, I suppose it makes no matter now," said Lord Baelish to the Hound. "You will soon be on your way to Winterfell and we are unlikely to meet much after that. Ah, here we are."

He opened a door and inside it was like a solar. There was a large table with several chairs. Jeyne was sitting at the table with many papers and scrolls, an ink pot and quills before her. She looked well, Sansa thought, and was dressed nicely in a dark green dress. Jeyne looked up and her eyes widened and she let out a cry.

"Sansa!" she said and they rushed towards each other and hugged and cried a bit.

"Please sit," Lord Baelish said as he and the Hound stood nearby, not saying a word. Sansa sat next to Jeyne and they talked and Sansa told her all that had happened and how she was leaving soon for Winterfell.

"Do you want to come with me?" she asked Jeyne.

Jeyne gulped and cast her eyes toward Lord Baelish and then back to Sansa. "My father is dead. I have no prospects in Winterfell. Lord Baelish will give me work and help me find a husband. He is kind and I am grateful."

Sansa nodded. "I understand." I understand you are trapped here as I was, she thought, but did not stay. "Lord Baelish says you are good at sums and ledgers."

She smiled slightly. "I always have been. Don't you remember?"

"Of course," Sansa said, playing along with the lie. "It was Arya and I that were no good at sums."

"Yes," she said. "Arya is fine?"

"I think so. I am told she is at Harrenhal with my father."

Jeyne nodded. "When you see her tell her I am sorry for all the times I teased her. I should not have done that."

"I will tell her." They talked for a few more minutes about the people who were dead, and Sansa asked her to forgive her father for causing all this trouble and of course she did. Sansa also knew she was partially to blame, for telling the Queen they were planning to leave, but she still could not say that to Jeyne whose father had died while hers was still alive.

"Time to go, little bird," the Hound said suddenly and with one more cry and hug she said goodbye to Jeyne, perhaps forever.

Lord Baelish escorted them to the first floor. As they came to the bottom of the stairs one of his women was coming towards them, half dressed like most of the others. She had red hair piled high and was curvy and Sansa could see her heavy breasts through her see through sheer clothing.

"My lord, you did not tell me we had a new girl? She is so pretty. Welcome dear."

The woman then hugged her, to Sansa's shock, and then held her hands. As she did so Sansa felt a small piece of parchment put in her right hand and she squeezed it tight.

"Back off whore," growled the Hound and he stepped toward the woman and she stepped away.

"Not a new girl," said Lord Baelish with a stern look to his woman. "Just visiting her friend."

The woman smiled and gave Sansa a stare that made her feel funny. "Oh? What a shame. I would have loved to put on an act or two for the lords with this one. When she is trained of course."

Sansa gulped. What did she mean?

The Hound glared at the woman. "She's not a whore like you slut. Now get out of the way!"

The woman giggled and then backed off and left through another door with Lord Baelish looking at her suspiciously. He turned to Sansa and was about to say something when suddenly there was a commotion in the courtyard outside. Someone screeched and then there were pounding footsteps and suddenly many gold cloaks of the City Watch were entering the building. An older man in front who had heavy jowls came straight up to Lord Baelish as the Hound stepped in front of Sansa.

"What is the meaning of this, Slynt?" asked Lord Baelish in an angry tone. "Here to kill more babies? I am afraid they are all gone, hiding from your cutthroats."

"It's Lord Slynt to you, traitor!" the man named Slynt snarled. "I'm not here for any baby. I have a warrant for your arrest for treason." He handed Lord Baelish a sealed scroll.

"An outrage!" Lord Baelish shouted as he opened it and then after a moment sighed heavily. "Well, this seems in order. I will see the King and Queen immediately and put an end to this infamy."

Slynt smiled. "I have orders to bring you to the black cells."

Lord Baelish now bristled. "Look here, I am a lord of the realm, the master of coin. I demand to see the Queen at once!"

"Oh, she'll see you alright. Maybe a bit later, after you beg to confess your crimes. Take him away!"

Two men grabbed Lord Baelish under the arms, one removing a dagger from its sheath at Lord Baelish's waist. "This is not over, Slynt!" he screamed. "I will see you hanged!"

"You first," said Slynt with a smile as Lord Baelish was dragged away still shouting. Slynt shouted to his men. "Gather all papers and books. Gather the whores for questioning. Kick out the customers but do not harm anyone." Then he seemed to notice the Hound for the first time. "What are you doing here? A midday fuck?"

The Hound reached out with his massive right hand and grabbed Slynt by the front of his chain mail. "Shut your mouth, pig. What I am doing here is not your business but the Queen's."

As they spoke Sansa had quickly looked at the small piece of parchment the woman had handed her. Written in small letters was a message from Jeyne. _Save me! Take me home! Jeyne._

Sansa had no time to think how the woman had gotten the message or why she had given it to Sansa. Maybe Jeyne knew Sansa was coming to see her. Maybe Lord Baelish told her Sansa was coming to say good-bye because she was going to Winterfell. She quickly crumpled the message in her hand as two of Slynt's men brandish spears at the Hound.

"Let go of me or my men will kill you!" Slynt was shouting.

The Hound laughed. "They can bloody well try. I have not killed a man in a few weeks. My sword is itching to taste blood."

She had to end this. Sansa reached out and touched the black chain mail covering his left arm. "Sandor? Please stop," she said, saying his name for the first time.

He flinched and then with a sigh he let go of Slynt. "Yes, my lady," the Hound said.

"We should go," Sansa said and then knew what she had to do next. "After I get my friend we came to take with us."

The Hound turned and looked at her. For a long few seconds he said nothing and then he nodded. "Right you are, little bird."

"Who is this…Lady Stark?" said Slynt in surprise as he got a good look at her standing behind the bulk of the Hound. He turned to his two men, gave them a shake of his head, and they lowered their spears.

"Yes…Lord Slynt, is it?" she asked and didn't wait for an answer. "Sandor Clegane was asked to bring me here by the Queen to meet my friend who is employed by Lord Baelish as a ledger keeper. I was about to ask her to join me for supper. She is free to go, is she not?"

"A ledger keeper," said Slynt. "She may know things…"

"She knows nothing," the Hound growled at him. "Littlefinger lied to Lady Stark. Her friend is not a ledger keeper, she is a whore in training like the rest. Only kept here against her will. Lady Stark lied as well. She asked me to save her friend, not bring her to supper."

Sansa felt a shock run through her. She had suspected it was true but now she knew it was. Poor Jeyne! "Please Lord Slynt, help us. She is my friend from Winterfell. I am going to be going home soon and she wants to come with me."

Slynt paused and then nodded. "Yes, I know you are leaving soon. Very well. Baelish is a traitor now, the Queen will not care what happens to one of his little whores. Get the girl and be gone."

Sansa didn't wait a second. She raced upstairs and the Hound shouted at her to stop and then she heard his footsteps pounding after her. Upstairs it was chaos. Gold cloaks were dragging naked men and women out of rooms, people were shouting and cursing and when she came to the room Jeyne was in she was standing crying as three gold cloaks started gathering up all the papers, scrolls and books in the room.

"Sansa!" she shouted and ran to her. A gold cloak tried to stop her but the Hound was there and he shoved the man back, so hard he fell to the floor.

"Hands off!" the Hound growled and the other men stopped what they were doing as the third scrambled to his feet. Two drew their swords and the Hound smiled in joy and drew his. Then Slynt was there in the doorway shouting at his men.

"Put away your steel!"

His men paused but did as he commanded and Slynt turned to Sansa, the Hound and Jeyne. "Go, before I change my mind!"

The Hound grunted and slid his sword back into his scabbard. "Come, little birds. Time to fly."

Soon they were back in the courtyard where the two Lannister men were being held at spear point by several gold cloaks. The Hound was about to speak but Sansa did so first. "They are with me, and are not employed by Lord Baelish," she said in a commanding tone, not knowing where it came from, not liking these men but not wanting to see any bloodshed. "Can't you see they wear Lannister colors? The Queen will hear of this if you do not let them go."

Slowly the spears were lowered and the two men fell in step behind Sansa, Jeyne and the Hound as they left through the archway.

"Thank you, my lady," said one of the Lannister men as they quickly walked away from the brothel.

"What has happened?" asked the other.

"Lord Whoremaster has been arrested for treason," the Hound told them.

"Treason? Baelish?"

"Yes," said Sansa. "We don't know why. Come, let us get back to the castle."

"As my lady commands," said the Hound and Sansa felt a little thrill shoot through her as she grabbed Jeyne's hand and they swiftly followed the big man through the streets.


	12. Chapter 12 Robb

**Ned Stark Lives! Chapter 12 Robb**

The raven came to Riverrun at midday. Robb Stark was in the main castle courtyard, his direwolf Grey Wind not far from his side as Robb watched his men training, encouraging them, walking among them, shaking a hand here, giving a grin and a word of encouragement to a lad here. He was only a lad himself, not yet counting sixteen name days, and here he was leading an army against Tywin Lannister, one of the greatest commanders the Seven Kingdoms had ever known. And so far Robb was beating him.

But Robb didn't let that get to his head. He was surrounded by his father's captains, all men much older than him and with much more experience at war. He had listened and heeded their advice. And even his mother's advice. She had led him to see that sending Roose Bolton to command the force at the Green Fork was a better idea than sending the Greatjon Umber. Bolton had been cautious, had stung Tywin Lannister enough to let him think he was facing the main force, but had not committed himself enough to lose his small force as the Greatjon might have. Meanwhile with the main force they had lured the Kingslayer into a trap in the Whispering Wood, captured him, and then moved on to rout his force surrounding Riverrun. He had his mother's uncle Ser Brynden Tully, the Blackfish, to thank for that more than anyone, him devising the tactics which allowed them to lift the siege of Riverrun.

As Robb stood in the mud of the training yard with the Greatjon Umber and the Blackfish beside him, talking about supplies and the latest scouting reports, the maester of Riverrun came to him with the raven message.

"From Harrenhal," he said as he handed Robb the unopened message. Robb took the small rolled message parchment.

"Harrenhal?" said Ser Brynden. "That can only be from one person."

"Tywin Lannister," Robb answered.

"Maybe he got sick of sitting on his fanny and is suing for peace!" the Greatjon said with a roaring laugh.

"Or maybe it's your father," said Robb's uncle, in a serious tone. They had heard rumors that his father had been taken to Harrenhal. A Lannister scout they had captured two days past swore he saw Ned Stark at Harrenhal, riding in on a wagon behind Tyrion Lannister, the Imp, as he rode in at the head of a small body of cavalry and wild men from the hill tribes of the Vale.

Robb quickly opened the message and read and caught his breath. "It's from father…he's safe…and he has Arya with him!"

"Gods be good!" said the Blackfish.

"What does he say lad?" the Greatjon demanded, looming over his shoulder.

_Robb. I am at Harrenhal. It is a long story. Arya is with me, safe and well. Tywin Lannister is in command here. He and I have agreed to terms. I will discuss this with you when I come to Riverrun. I will soon ride out with an escort under a peace banner. Look for us at the gates of Riverrun when the moon turns. Make sure your men know. Give all your best to your men and above all to your mother. I will see you all soon. You are all in our prayers and thoughts always. Your father, Eddard Stark_.

"Where is my mother now?" Robb asked them. "She must hear this news at once. And my uncle Edmure as well."

"Edmure is still recuperating from his wound," said Ser Brynden. Edmure had been hurt when the Lannisters had taken Riverrun. "Let him rest for now. Your mother is with your grandfather, as usual. Come, I will take you."

"In a moment, uncle. When does the moon turn?"

"Tomorrow or the next day," he answered and then looked to the Greatjon. "Spread the word to our scouts and outriders. A Lannister peace party will be coming soon."

"Aye, and so will Ned!" said the Greatjon and without another word he hurried off to tell the other commanders and men the news.

"Come, Robb," his uncle Brynden said. "Let us bring this good news to your mother."

Robb told Grey Wind to stay in the courtyard and then he and his uncle entered the main part of the castle. They found his mother Lady Catelyn Stark by her father's bedside, sitting in a soft cushioned chair beside him, dozing, an open book in her hands. It looked like she had been reading to him and he had dozed off, as he often did when the maester gave him milk of the poppy for his affliction. The maester called it the 'wasting sickness', an affliction that was deep inside and spread, causing great pain, weakness, and eventually death. There was naught he could do for Hoster Tully except make him comfortable in his last days. As they entered the room Catelyn Stark gave a start at hearing their footsteps, awoke quickly, and dropped her book.

"Mother, are you well?" Robb asked quietly as he came to her side while she picked up the book and placed it on a small table near the bed.

"Yes," Catelyn Stark told her eldest son. "I was reading to him. I must have fallen asleep for a moment." She looked wan and her eyes were bloodshot, her getting hardly any sleep since they had arrived at Riverrun. She looked at Robb's grandfather to see if he was still sleeping and then turned to her son and uncle. "What is it?" she asked suddenly, sensing something was happening.

Robb handed her the message without another word. She read it quickly and then gasped. "Oh, thank the gods! He is well! He has Arya!"

She stood quickly and hugged Robb and then her uncle as tears fell from her eyes. "Come," said Ser Brynden. "Let us retired to the solar to discuss matters."

Robb's mother told a serving girl to sit with her father and call her if he awoke. Then they entered Hoster Tully's solar and sat at his table and discussed the meaning of the message.

"There is nothing about Sansa," was the first thing Catelyn said, worry on her face, as she re-read the message from her husband.

"Ned is bringing terms, little Cat," her uncle told her. "I am sure those terms include freeing Sansa."

"They must," said Robb with determination. "Or they will not get the Kingslayer."

"How did Arya end up at Harrenhal?" his mother asked next.

"Don't know," Robb said, just as puzzled. "I thought she was with Sansa at King's Landing."

"So the Lannisters wanted us to believe," said Ser Brynden. "We will know the truth when Ned arrives."

"What terms would Tywin Lannister want?" Robb asked them.

"One thing is certain," said his mother. "They will want us to exchange the Kingslayer for the girls and your father."

"Ned has sworn to take the black if the rumors we've heard from King's Landing are true," Ser Brynden said. He said nothing else, but Robb knew what he was implying.

Robb looked at him. "Uncle, if you mean to say why should we accept him as part of their deal when he is of no use to us then say it."

"It is what some of your men will say, Robb," his uncle replied. "That we are trading the Kingslayer for two girls."

"No, we are trading the Kingslayer for my daughters and the Lord of Winterfell, who is these men's liege lord," Catelyn said strongly. "Ned will not take the black. He always told me that any oath a man makes with a sword at his throat is not an oath the gods would hold him to."

"Aye," said Robb, knowing these words, having heard them from his father himself. "There is that. But he is not the Lord of Winterfell any more. That burden is mine. He has been stripped of all his titles."

"By a lying queen and a false king," Ser Brynden quickly added. "If what Stannis Baratheon writes is true."

"I believe it, foul as it is," Robb replied. "If you ever saw Robert's supposed children you'd believe it too. All blond haired and green-eyed like their mother and uncle. I guess I should say their father."

"A monstrous crime, if true," added his mother. "But just hair and eye coloring alone is not proof. Look at Arya. She is the only one of you that looks like your father."

"Jon does as well," Robb told her and instantly knew it was a mistake when his mother stared at him with anger in her eyes.

"He does not count," she said evenly.

"He's my brother," Robb told her strongly. "I know you despise him, but he is still my brother."

"Please speak no more of this," she said in a trembling voice. "Not today. Not when we have such good news."

"Aye," Robb said, eyes downcast, feeling bad he had hurt her. "Sorry, mother."

"Let us put aside what Ned may or may not do for the moment," said Ser Brynden to break the tension. "Tywin Lannister will want us to break camp and for the northern men to go home. He will want Riverrun and the Twins and the rest of the river lords to bend the knee to Joffrey. Then he will make war on Stannis and Renly. Who will win, only the gods know. But I know this. If Tywin Lannister wins, he will come back and look for revenge on the lot of us."

"It's his way," Robb replied. He had heard enough about the wrath of Tywin Lannister from his father. "He is not known for being gentle to those that wrong him."

"How can we trust what he promises?" Catelyn Stark asked in obvious frustration.

"We cannot trust Tywin Lannister," Ser Brynden told them solemnly.

"Then we should not accept his terms," she answered. "We should make an alliance with the Baratheon brothers."

Ser Brynden snorted. "They will not join forces. Not Stannis. He thinks he is the rightful king. He will not bend the knee to anyone. He bent it to Robert all his life. Now he is free to be king and will be king at any cost."

"Then surely Renly will ally with us?" Robb asked. "Father always said he was reasonable."

"Possibly," said his uncle. "With the power of Highgarden behind him, an alliance with Renly is the best move."

"We must wait for Ned to arrive before we decide anything," Catelyn said. "He will know the true situation and the Lannister terms and will give us wise counsel."

"Yes," said Ser Brynden. "But will his counsel be that of a man who leads armies, or a father who fears for his family's safety?"

"Both," answered Catelyn with certainty. "He will balance all and come to the right choice. And if he advises Robb to turn these men back north to their homes, Robb will do so. But I am sure he will also tell them to keep their swords sharp and their eye on the Neck for the first sign of a Lannister army."

Her uncle snorted. "A Lannister army at the Neck will have already defeated us in the Riverlands, little Cat."

She sighed. "Then we must continue the war until the Lannisters are defeated."

"There is no point in discussing this till Father arrives," Robb said strongly. His mother and uncle were discussing possible events far in the future with so much uncertain. He looked to his mother. "The Greatjon is telling the men to expect Father's group under a peace banner. The moon's turn is upon us. Hopefully by tomorrow he will be here."

"Gods be good," his mother said. Then her face clouded. "He will come with some representative of the Lannister family."

"They will expect to see the Kingslayer," Ser Brynden told them. "To make sure he is alive and well."

"We must see he is presentable," Robb's mother said, a worried tone to her voice. "A bath and a change of clothing at least. If they think we have mistreated him it will not go well for Arya and Sansa."

"I will take care of it after we talk," Robb said and it was agreed.

"Who would they send to see him?" his mother asked next.

Ser Brynden spoke. "Tywin Lannister will never come. Maybe his brother Kevan. Or another. Tyrion Lannister perhaps."

"The Imp," his mother said in disgust. She knew that the scout they had captured two days ago said Tyrion Lannister was at Harrenhal, along with Robb's father but until now they hadn't dared believe it.

"He should never have been allowed to leave the Vale," her uncle said with a shake of his head.

"What could we have done?" Catelyn asked. "Lysa would not listen to reason. I tried, oh, I tried. She let that little man play us for fools and all those lords and ladies safe behind their mountains and high walls wanted to see him dead. None thought his sellsword would win. Now he is free."

"I should have taken matters into my own hands" said her uncle. "As soon as Jon Arryn died, I should have. But what would have been the point? You saw how Lysa is now."

Robb was confused. It seems they did not tell him the whole story of what had happened in the Vale. "What is wrong with Aunt Lysa?"

His mother looked at him quickly and cast her eyes away before speaking softly. "She is not well, Robb. She is fearful, and sees plots behind every door. I told her I could take young Robert to Winterfell to be a companion to Bran and Rickon and she screeched that he would never leave the Vale and threatened to throw me out the Moon Door."

Robb had heard stories about the Eyrie's famous Moon Door. "Gods, what is wrong with her to threaten her own blood?"

Ser Brynden sighed heavily. "Long years with no child and now with a sickly one and her husband dead. I fear we can ask for no help from the Vale. She will keep her knights and levies behind her stone mountains and ride out this storm. But she is mistaken to think the war will not touch them. Tywin Lannister will come calling some day. He will not forget Lysa put his son on trial. We should have shut him up, killed his sellsword, and put him back in a sky cell, anything but let him walk away."

"Lysa thought the hill tribesmen of the Mountains of the Moon would kill them," Catelyn said. "They almost killed us on the way there."

Robb gave a short snort. "Hill tribesmen? That Lannister scout said there were wild men with the Imp at Harrenhal."

"I am sure he talked them into joining him, after he talked them out of killing him," said his uncle.

Robb's mother nodded. "Now it is too late. The little man trapped us with his tongue and our own laws and has talked his way out of another trap."

"We should have said to hell with our own laws and held him," Ser Brynden said once again. "Then we would have two Lannisters to trade and we could give terms to Tywin instead of him giving terms to us."

"The Lannisters have bent the rules of the land for their own purposes if what we hear happened in King's Landing is true," said Robb. "Cersei tore up father's letter from King Robert in front of the whole court."

"Maybe its time we did the same," began Ser Brynden. "If the Imp comes here we should hold him and the Kingslayer both."

"No," Catelyn said swiftly and strongly before Robb could answer. "Arya will still be at Harrenhal and Sansa will be gods knows where between King's Landing and there by that time. I will not give Tywin Lannister reasons to hold my daughters any longer than necessary."

"Aye," Robb answered. "Mother is right. We cannot hold the Imp. Especially if he comes under a peace banner. The Lannisters may flout the customs of the land, but I will not. Father would not either."

"We will lose this war if we don't," said his uncle strongly.

Robb shifted his eyes from his uncle to his mother and back again. He knew his uncle was right. The Lannisters were flouting the laws and customs for their own purposes. Maybe it was time they did the same. But he wanted to speak to his father first. "I need to know what terms my father is bringing before we make any plans."

Ser Brynden nodded. "Agreed. I think we have said all we can say for now. If I may have leave to go, I need to find out if there is any news of Ned."

Robb stood as his uncle did. "Of course. Thank you for your wise words uncle." Ser Brynden said his goodbyes and was soon gone from the room.

"He's right," Robb said after he sat again.

"Of course he is right," his mother replied. "The Lannisters are in this to win no matter what the cost and don't care about their honor. What honor do they have left? Jaime Lannister killed the king he swore to protect. Many know or at least suspect Tywin Lannister has blood on his hands from Rhaegar Targaryen's murdered wife and children. And if what Stannis says is true about Cersei, she has violated every law of decency in the eyes of the gods and men. I am beginning to think maybe Tyrion Lannister is the only one of them who has any honor at all, horrid little man he is."

Robb looked at her in astonishment. "But…he tried to kill Bran!"

"I am having my doubts about that."

That shocked him. "Why?"

She leaned back in her chair, took a deep breath, and then spoke at length. "I have had plenty of time to think on this in the Vale, on the ship to White Harbor, on the ride to your camp at Moat Callin and then to here. The Imp had no reason to hurt Bran. He wasn't even in Winterfell when the attack happened. And he said something to me. He said that only a fool would arm a footpad with his own dagger. I do not think Tyrion Lannister is much of a fool. Not after the way he escaped us."

Robb listened and wondered. "I told you how he gave Bran that design for the saddle."

"Yes. Why would he do that if he had tried to kill Bran?"

"To cover his crime."

"A strange way to hide his guilt, don't you think? Another thing. When he saw me in that inn he acted as if nothing was amiss. Just a traveler on his way home, stopping for the night. Gods, I was so angry when I saw him I could not think straight and asked the men in the inn to help me arrest him. I did not think on it till long after when it was too late. And now he has had his trial by combat and the gods have judged him innocent."

"The Imp did not fight."

"No, but by all our laws he is innocent. Maybe he truly is."

"If not him, then who paid the footpad who attacked Bran and you?"

"Whoever pushed Bran off that tower. They wanted to finish the job before he awoke and told us who it was."

They had discussed this before and had agreed that someone must have pushed him. But who? Then Robb remembered something else. "Lord Baelish told you that dagger was the Imp's, yes? Won in some bet during Joffrey's name day tournament a year past?"

She nodded. "Petyr. He told your father and me. Now I wonder if it was a lie."

"Why would he lie about that?"

"Only the gods know." They were silent for a long few moments and then she stood. "I need to see my father."

Robb stood quickly. "No. You need to eat something and get some rest."

"Robb, he's dieing…he hasn't much time."

"Father will be here soon," Robb said. "He would be angry with me if you fall ill because you haven't eaten or slept in days."

She started to say something, then silently closed her eyes, opened them again and hugged him tight. "I am so tired, tired of all of this," she said in his ear. "Why did this happen to us? First Bran, now your father and the girls. What have we done to angry the gods?"

He held her tight for a moment and then pulled back from her and looked at her. "I don't know, Mother. But I will not rest until Sansa and Arya and father are back with us and we know who Bran's attacker is."

She kissed him on the cheek. "Gods be good it will be soon. I will go to bed for a few hours. Wake me if there is any news, especially about your father. Or mine."

"I will."

Robb led her to her rooms and posted a guard outside her door and then walked upstairs and down corridors and turned corners till he came to the room where Ser Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, was kept. It was a room reserved for high born captives. Almost every castle in the land had such a room, as it would not do to put a high born prisoner in a deep dark dungeon. Of course, Robb had heard that is exactly where his father was in the Red Keep. Some of the prisoners they had captured at Riverrun had talked and some knew what had gone on in King's Landing. Not all, not the details, but enough to make Robb angry at how his father and his people had been treated. The rumors were that all the household members were murdered by the Lannisters. That Sansa was held captive and no one knew where Arya was. Sansa's own letter to them made no mention of Arya. Of course, those had been Cersei's words, not Sansa's. Until just a short time ago when his father's message arrived Robb had feared his little sister was dead.

Two large guards were outside the door to the Kingslayer's cell, dressed in dull grey chain mail, holding short pikes and carrying swords and daggers at their waists. The both dipped their heads and said, "Lord Stark."

Robb felt funny being called that. All his life people had called his father Lord Stark. Now he was Lord Stark. Maybe in a few days that would change again.

"How is our most famous prisoner today?' he asked the men. They had other Lannister prisoners, but none as high up as the Kingslayer.

"Gripping about the accommodations and food as usual, my lord," said one man who had a great big bushy mustache colored coal black.

"Better than the ones my father had in the Red Keep."

"Aye," said the other man. "Is it true my lord? Is your father coming soon?"

Rumors spread fast. "Aye. Soon, I hope. I need to talk to the Kingslayer. Come with me." He would not dare be alone with Jaime Lannister for an instant. The man was vicious and had no honor and would surely try to kill Robb if he were alone with him. Robb was not afraid, but he was not stupid either. The Kingslayer was more than twice his age, taller, and better at killing than Robb would likely ever be. He had already tried to kill Robb in the Whispering Wood. If his men had not placed themselves between himself and the Kingslayer maybe Robb would be dead now. Two Karstark boys had died, and their father swore to kill the Kingslayer. That was a headache Robb was not looking forward to dealing with. He could not let anything happen to the Kingslayer or he would never see Arya and Sansa again.

The guard with the bushy mustache took out a heavy iron key and put it in a lock that was on the stout wooden door. The lock opened and he pushed the door in.

The room had but one window, small and heavily barred, so that little light or air entered the room. It was stuffy and the air was stale and when the door opened it was as if the air itself moved past them. The room had a narrow bed with a thin mattress, a small table with two wooden chairs and a chamber pot in a corner. On the table was the stub of a lit candle and a pewter plate with the remains of an apple and some bread and cheese on it. A clay jug of water and a cup were also on the table, nearby the plate. Sitting in one of the chairs was Ser Jaime Lannister, better known as the Kingslayer.

He was a handsome man, Robb thought, but not so much these days. Ser Jaime's thick blond hair was matted and greasy, his face had a thick growth of tangled blond beard, and his clothes were stained, some of it blood from when he had been wounded in the head when they had captured him in the Whispering Wood. He looked up from a small book he was reading by the light of the stub of candle. His hands were manacled with a short chain between them, but his legs were free.

"My goaler," he said with a slight grin. "How good of you to join me. I'd offer you a drink and something decent to eat but I seem to be lacking both."

"Better than my father got in the black cells at King's Landing I don't doubt."

"I wouldn't know," Jaime replied. "I never had the pleasure to be a prisoner there. Please sit. I grow weary of talking to myself and these books you've left me are boring." He looked at the title of the book he had. "_A History of the Lords of the Riverlands_ by Archmaester…oh, who cares. I certainly don't."

Robb entered and sat opposite the Kingslayer, his two guards close behind, the door left open to allow some air and light to enter the chamber. He saw Jaime look at his two guards and past them at the open door.

"Don't even think about it. There are another twenty thousand men outside, each of whom would cut your heart out without a second thought."

The Kingslayer smiled. "Let's take off these manacles and put steel in my hand see how many of the great northern lords I can kill before someone bests me or I grow too exhausted to lift my arms anymore."

Robb bristled. "I did not come here to listen to your japes, Kingslayer," he said and was about to rise when Jaime spoke.

"A poor jest. My brother is the one who has the sharp wit, not me. I just had a sharp blade. I crave news of the outside world. Please sit."

Robb sat again. "There is news."

"I'm listening."

"We've had a letter from Stannis Baratheon."

"Stannis," Jaime said with a nod. "He never liked me."

"No?"

"Stannis is too honorable, sort of like your father. I wonder if either of them could have killed the Mad King."

"There was no need for them to do it. You had already killed him."

"You sound as if you were there. How old were you when that happened? Or hadn't you been born yet?"

"I was an infant just born," Robb replied, knowing the Kingslayer knew this already.

"Yes, I suppose you were," said Jaime. "Well, no sense in dwelling on things in the past. How is old stern faced Stannis?" He started to pour a cup of water for himself from the jug.

"He's been telling the Seven Kingdoms about you and your sister, the Queen."

Jaime stopped pouring and put down the jug. He took a drink of water and then stared at Robb for a long few seconds. "Telling what?"

"Telling us that Cersei's children are hers all right. But they are not Robert's. They're yours."

The Kingslayer laughed, which Robb had not expected. "Is that all? Stannis is spreading lies to better his claim to the Iron Throne. Even you are not fool enough to fall for that, are you boy?"

Robb ignored the 'boy' jibe. "You say it is a lie?"

"With all my heart. But no one would believe me. I have shit for honor according to most."

"Aye, that much is true."

Jaime ignored the counter jibe. "What other news is there?"

"Might be you'll have a visitor soon."

That interested him. "Who?"

"My father."

Jaime smiled. "Dear old Ned. Has he been set free?"

"He took an oath to take the black and he confessed his crimes before the people of King's Landing," Robb told him. "Even though he is innocent. He has been talking with your father, negotiating an end to this war."

Jaime nodded. "So my father can fight Stannis."

"And Renly."

That truly surprised him. "Renly? He fled King's Landing like a dog with its tail between its legs, and left your father with no support for his attempt to overthrow Joffrey, according to what I've heard. What army does Renly have?"

"I had forgotten," Robb answered. "You have been shut in here for weeks. Renly married Margaery Tyrell and…"

Now the Kingslayer laughed loud and long. "Renly? Married? He would not know what to do with Margaery Tyrell or any other woman in his bed. Now if it was her brother, that is another story."

Robb did not understand his meaning at first and then it dawn on him. "That is a vicious lie!"

Jaime smirked. "Oh, no it isn't. But why should I care if you believe me or not? Many and more know it is true and whisper and laugh behind his back. Well, so Renly is married and has Highgarden behind him, in more ways than one. My father is wise to send your father to negotiate terms. I suppose I am to be traded for him?"

"Yes…yes, just him." Robb was caught off guard, trying to take in all the Kingslayer was saying about Renly.

Jaime's eyes narrowed. "No, not just him, is it? Who else have we got? Oh wait, yes, the two sisters. I had forgotten. They must be in King's Landing still. But isn't Joffrey supposed to marry the older one when she becomes a woman?"

Robb snorted. "Your son will never marry my sister."

Now it was Jaime's turn to bristle. "I have no sons, but of course my word doesn't mean a thing to you. Perhaps we can settle this with steel. Why don't we go outside and put an end to this war, single combat, winner takes all?"

Robb stared at him and then shook his head and even chuckled a bit. "You would like that. You are the better man, no doubt. So I see no advantage in that for me."

"Of course not," the Kingslayer said with a smirk. "Is there any more news of import? If not, I would surely like to get back to the thrilling tales of the Riverlands lords. Did you know that the Brackens and Blackwoods have been fighting each other off and on for hundreds of years?"

"I'm sure I heard that somewhere. There is more news, but not important enough for me to waste any more time with you." He started to rise but the Kingslayer spoke quickly.

"A question, if I may?"

"Aye?"

"Where is my brother Tyrion?'

Robb decided to let him worry about his brother a little longer. "I don't know."

"I last heard he managed to escape from your mother in the Vale and made his way to my father's camp on the Green Fork."

"I have no idea where he is now," Robb lied and then he turned to the two men behind him who had been silent the whole time, although he was sure they had been shocked by many of things he and the Kingslayer had discussed. "Take him," Robb said and he was glad to see the Kingslayer taken off guard for once.

"Where, my lord?" asked one man, the one without the bushy mustache, who had no mustache at all.

"To the baths," Robb commanded. "He smells like a pig. I don't want the Lannisters to think we were too unkind to him."

Jaime stood and smiled. "A wise move, boy. I think whoever comes to see me will also want to know why I am still in chains." He held outs his hands as if expecting the manacles to be removed.

Robb shook his head. "No, they stay on till you are traded. Move."

The guards grabbed the Kingslayer and pushed him toward the door and Robb followed right behind after blowing out the candle on the table. They moved slowly, the Kingslayer's legs not used to walking after being cooped up for so long. They passed by doors and went down stairs and some people saw them and looked at them in astonishment. The baths were in the lower levers of the main Keep and after a time they approached them. As they walked Robb gathered six more guards and they followed along.

The bath house of Riverrun was not overly large but still had six large wooden tubs and usually had wooden screens dividing them for privacy but today the screens were put aside. Three tubs had occupants, all women, about seven or eight, naked and laughing and splashing in the water. As Robb's party entered the room the old woman who ran the baths let out a shout. "It is the girl's time to…oh, Lord Stark. I…sorry my lord, but the serving and kitchen girls are…you see…"

"My apologies," said Robb. "But I have need of the baths."

"Yes, my lord, at once," she said and then she shouted at the girls to get a move on. There was a quick scramble as the girls leaped from the water and gather their clothing in a hurry. Robb couldn't help but stare as some of them were quite comely. There were plenty of shy looks and smiles and the men with Robb were laughing and jesting and giving a few comments as the girls exited through a door on the far wall.

"Don't leave on my account," said the Kingslayer to them with a grin as they hastily departed.

Robb looked at the old woman in charge of the baths. "A bath for Ser Jaime," he said. "Scrub him clean and have the castle barber give him a haircut and shave when he is done."

"Yes, my lord," she said. "But I cannot remove his clothing with those chains on him, my lord."

"The chains stay," Robb ordered. "But we must unshackled one hand to get his clothing on and off." He turned to bushy mustache. "Unshackled his left hand, till his clothing is off, then shackle him again for his bath, and do the same when he dresses. Throw away his old clothes. He'll need fresh ones anyway."

"Something in red and gold if you have it," Jaime quipped. "They've always been my favorite colors."

"You'll get what we have," Robb told him. He looked at the eight guards. They were a mix of men of Winterfell and Riverrun. He wanted no Karstarks here, that was for certain. "Stay here. Watch him. Let no one else enter this room."

"Yes, my lord," they said and then Robb started to leave them.

"Stark!" the Kingslayer shouted and Robb turned.

"What do you want now, Lannister?"

"If it's not too much bother, can someone clean out my shit pail and the rushes from my room? And I need a new candle. And perhaps a better book."

Robb turned without a word. "Thank you!" the Kingslayer shouted after him in a mocking tone as Robb walked away.

Robb's father did not come the next day or the day after that, but three days after the raven arrived Robb was finishing breaking his fast with his mother, uncle Edmure, and uncle Brynden in the great hall of Riverrun when suddenly the Greatjon entered. "Ned is coming!" he shouted.

Robb felt his heart beat faster and he looked to his mother who was smiling broadly and then her face fell. "I…I must look a fright." She did look wan and had not slept much despite his orders.

He grinned though and spoke kindly to her. "You will look more beautiful to him than you did on your wedding day, I am sure."

"Of course, I'm being silly," she said. "Come. Let us greet your father."

They followed the Greatjon and soon all of the Stark captains inside the castle were with them. They came across the lowered drawbridge that crossed the moat that separated Riverrun from the land between the Red Fork and the Tumblestone. Then they heard cheering coming from the Stark encampments on the south bank of the Red Fork. Rob knew his father's party must cross the shallow ford to arrive at the land between the Red Fork and Tumblestone where Riverrun was sited. The cheering seemed to come in waves from across the river and soon they saw a crowd of men moving, following behind a mounted party. A large peace banner was in their midst and nothing else, no Lannister flags at all. Robb struggled to see his father or who came with him, but the waving of spears, pikes and Stark and other northern banners was too much to see clearly. Then they disappeared from sight and Robb knew they were at the ford. A few minutes later the party was up on the northern bank of the Red Fork and was moving toward the moat. His mother clutched his arm and then the flags and spears parted and his father came into view, riding a roan horse. Robb's breath caught in his throat and his mother clutched his arm tighter.

Lord Eddard Stark looked stern as usually and showed no other emotion. He was dressed well, in a long brown leather traveling jacket and breeches with his finely tooled long leather riding boots. He worn no weapons that Robb could see. As his horse came up to them the crowd parted and a Stark man grabbed the horse's bridle. His father got off his horse and immediately Robb saw he was in pain as he winced and almost stumbled. Robb went to help him but his mother held tight to his arm and then his father was standing before him.

"Lord Stark," he said with a dip of his head and Robb felt like the world had turned upside down. _You _are Lord Stark, not me, he wanted to shout, but he did not.

"Father, welcome to Riverrun," was all he could say and then his father gave him a small grin and a slight nod of the head and then was looking at his mother.

"My lady," he said and then she let go of Robb's arm, rushed into her husband's arms and hugged him tight. As Catelyn Stark let a few tears fall the crowd of soldiers and commoners and lords all cheered lustily and long. Robb's father then hugged him and clapped him on the back and Robb felt like all was right again. His father started shaking hands with Robb's uncles and captains and all great him warmly. It was then as the crowds parted that Robb saw him. The Imp.

Tyrion Lannister was just awkwardly getting off his horse with a dark-haired man in black leather armor standing beside him, holding the bridle of his own horse. He saw behind the Imp a small group of cavalry in Lannister colors, maybe about thirty men with a very tall man in front who looked like their leader. Tyrion looked up at Robb as he stood in the mud by the drawbridge that was across the moat.

"Lord Stark," Tyrion said loudly above the cheers. "I bring greetings from my father and terms to be discussed."

"Aye," said Robb. And he knew what he had to ask next. His uncle Brynden had told him all he must do. "Do you have authority to negotiate?"

"I do." Tyrion held out a small scroll, sealed with gold wax and with the sigil of house Lannister stamped in it. "This is my authority, signed and sealed by my father. The terms I will present formally later. Your father knows the details and he and you and your captains may discuss them before the formal presentation."

"Very well," Robb said as he took the scroll, opened it and read it quickly. It basically said what Tyrion had just said, that he was charged with bringing peace terms and had the power to negotiate but that any changes would have to have final approval of Tywin Lannister. As Robb read, he suddenly realized it was quieter and others were watching how he would act towards the Imp. Then his uncle Edmure was by his side. "Lord Tyrion Lannister, this is Ser Edmure Tully, heir to Riverrun." Robb said as he introduced them

"Greetings, Ser Edmure," Tyrion said. "May I impose on the hospitality of Riverrun for me and my men?"

"You may, Lord Tyrion," said Edmure, formally, and a bit stiffly. Robb knew there was no love between his uncle and the Lannisters. They had invaded his family lands, and had captured him. He had been wounded and was still recovering, looking a bit pale, but standing here representing Riverrun, as his lord father was slowly dieing inside the castle. "Your men can camp here, outside the walls on this side of the moat," Edmure told Tyrion. "We will provide tents and food and fodder. You and any attendants may stay in the castle."

"Thank you, Ser Edmure," Tyrion said, and then turned to the dark haired man in leather. "This is Bronn. He goes where I go. And this… where is he? Podrick? Well, he's back there somewhere. My squire. He and Bronn will accompany me in the castle."

"Not this one, Edmure," suddenly Robb's mother said, standing at his other side. She was looking at Bronn. "I will not suffer him in my father's home."

Tyrion smiled. "Lady Stark, how good to see you again."

"Spare me your false courtesies, Lannister," she said, her face and tone grim. "I must suffer you because your father and sister have my daughters. I do not have to suffer your pets."

Tyrion sighed. "Would you feel better if Bronn left his weapons outside the castle?"

"I wouldn't feel better," said Bronn calmly. "If it's all the same to you, I'll stay out here like she asks."

"Fine," said Tyrion in a huff, and Robb could see he did not like this one bit. Bronn was the sellsword who had championed him in the Vale, his mother had told him. He knew exactly why she disliked him. Bronn had started out helping her bring Tyrion to justice and then had turned his cloak and helped set the Imp free.

Just then a young lad approached, leading a horse. "Ah, here's Podrick now," the Imp said. "Surely my squire will be allowed inside the castle walls. Yes? Good. Pod, please bring my horse as well and follow us."

"Yes, my, my lord," the lad said, stuttering a bit.

Soon the party turned and more cheers came and shouts of "Stark! Stark!" were the loudest. They crossed the drawbridge and entered Riverrun.

"Your mother seems to dislike me, Lord Stark," Tyrion told Robb as they walked side by side, behind his parents and the captains and his uncles, the boy following them with the two horses. Robb had to shorten his stride to match the Imp's waddle.

"You have given my family plenty of reasons to dislike you and yours," Robb told him.

"Your father and I have discussed this endlessly on the road here," Tyrion replied. "Seems we have reached an impasse."

Robb snorted. "I would think a man accused of attacking my brother and once held prisoner by my mother would be afraid to come here."

"It so happens I was quite reluctant to come, for all of the reasons you mentioned," Tyrion replied. "But my lord father can be most persuasive when it comes to getting the things he wants. And he wants Jaime and peace and would trust no one else with this mission but me."

"Then let us hope you are able to please your father and I can see my sisters again and all this will be done with."

"Agreed. Now, I would like to see my brother as soon as possible."

"Aye," Robb said. Up ahead his father had stopped to talk to some of his men from Winterfell and his mother stood beside him beaming. The Blackfish was looking over at Robb and then walked toward him.

"Ser Brynden," Tyrion said. "I am surprised you are still not in the Vale, guarding your niece and her boy from all those that she thinks seek to harm them."

"I care not what surprises you, Imp," Ser Brynden replied curtly as he looked to Robb. "We should meet in the great hall to hear what terms your father has brought."

Robb knew that was necessary, but he also knew his father was tired and his leg still bothered him. "My father rode a long way to us," he told his uncle. "He needs rest and refreshment and I would have words with him and my mother, alone."

Ser Brynden looked like he was about to protest, but then just curtly nodded. "As you wish, Lord Stark."

"Lord Tyrion requested that he see his brother," Robb told the Blackfish. "I would be grateful if you could take him to him."

"I can do that," Ser Brynden said. He looked at Tyrion, the distaste obvious on his face. "There are many stairs, Imp. Can you manage?"

Tyrion feigned shock surprise. "What? No turnip hoist like the Eyrie has? I am sure a few stairs will not cramp my stunted legs too much, Ser Brynden."

"Follow me," the Blackfish commanded and after Tyrion told his squire to mind their horses he waddled after Ser Brynden. As Tyrion walked Robb watched the men of the north and the Riverlands look at the Imp. They all knew who he was, even if they had never met him before. Robb heard more than one curse and more than one man spit in Tyrion Lannister's tracks. Maybe I'd better put a guard with him, Robb thought, and then he knew no man would challenge Tyrion as long as the Blackfish as with him.

Robb caught up with his parents and captains and after some small discussion, with promises to meet in the evening for a feast and discussion of Tywin Lannister's terms, he and his mother and father retired to the great hall alone. They would have gone to the solar but it was high up in the central Keep and there were too many stairs for his father to climb with his bad leg. Edmure wanted to join them but his sister put him off, saying she needed to speak in private with her husband and son. She ordered wine brought to them and then they were finally alone.

Robb's father turned to him and looked at him for a long moment. "I couldn't be prouder of you."

Robb felt a lump in his throat and found it hard to talk. "I…I did my best, Father," he finally managed to say.

"Aye, that you did," his father said. And then he cast his eyes down. "If only the rest of us had." His last words came out heavily, and full of guilt. He limped to a nearby table and sat in a chair next to his wife and she held his left hand in both of hers.

"You are not to blame," she said. "It was I who took the Imp hostage. And I who let Petyr convince us the Imp had anything to do with Bran's assassin."

"No, sweet Cat," his father said soothingly. "I should never have left Winterfell. I fear I put us all in danger the day I agreed to do that. I knew Robert was in trouble. I thought I could protect him from his enemies."

"Now Robert is dead," she said sadly. "It was all for nothing."

Robb sat down and poured wine for them all. "This will not do, us blaming each other for what is done and cannot be undone."

His mother gave a small laugh and Robb and his father looked at her in wonder. "The boy telling his parents how it is," she said.

"He's not a boy anymore," Ned Stark told her. "He is Lord of Winterfell and a proven leader of armed men."

"You are Lord of Winterfell," Robb said immediately.

"Not according to the laws of the land," his father replied as he sipped his wine.

"A law upheld by a false king!" Catelyn almost shouted.

"Aye, there is that," said Ned and then they asked him what had happened in King's Landing and he told them it all. They took it all in and asked many questions and finally they got to hear what had happened to Arya.

"Syrio Forel paid with his life to save her," his father said bitterly. "Then she ran to the stables and saw…she saw Hullen dieing… and the rest dead."

"Seven hells!" Robb said in anger. "For her to see that…"

"She has seen worse," his father said and then looked like he wished he hadn't said that.

"What do you mean?" Catelyn asked in fear. "What can be worse than that?"

Ned sighed. "She came to the Sept of Baelor when I confessed. I saw her and I saw Yoren, a recruiter for the Night's Watch."

"He was at Winterfell with the Imp," Robb said.

"And at the inn," his mother added.

"Aye. He brought me the news of what had happened there. I told him to take Arya," his father continued. "He cut her hair and made out like she was a boy and she joined our group."

"That was wise of him," said Robb.

"Aye," said his father. "But I wished there had been any other way to get her out of the city. I'd hoped he would get her to Winterfell. But the road between King's Landing and Harrenhal was hard. The land is on fire, the small folk are fleeing. A party of gold cloaks followed us from King's Landing and then a larger party of Lannister men came later."

"They knew Arya was with you?" Catelyn asked.

"No," he replied. "The gold cloaks were after a boy named Gendry. He's Robert's bastard son."

"After him?" Robb asked. "Why? What has the boy done?"

"Nothing," his father told him. "He didn't even know he was Robert's son. Joffrey wants him dead."

His mother shook her head. "The Blackfyres." Robb knew what she meant, having been taught about the Blackfyre rebellions by Maester Luwin.

"Aye," said his father. "But we protected the lad and sent the gold cloaks back to King's Landing. So we thought. They joined a party of Lannister men who Cersei had sent out to take me back to King's Landing. I guess by then she knew you had the Kingslayer. We were in a holdfast by Gods Eye and were attacked and people died. Many people died. Yoren died, a boy called Lommy, later, and many others."

"Gods have mercy," his mother said in shock. "And Arya? What did she do when you were attacked?"

His father looked pained and said nothing so Robb said what he knew was true, knew would be true of his sister. "She fought."

"Fought?" his mother exclaimed. "She is a girl of ten! How could she fight?"

"She is a Stark of Winterfell," his father said, strength now in his voice, now that the truth was out. "She did what she had to do to live. We both did."

"Gods, what have we done?" Robb's mother said in a wail. "Bran a cripple, Sansa a prisoner, and Arya…I don't know what to do."

"We do what we have always done," her husband told her. "We protect our own and we stick together. We stand tall and we fight those who would harm us."

They were silent for a few moments, his mother almost in tears as his father drank deeply and poured himself more wine. Now Robb turned to a delicate matter and looked at his father. "You've taken an oath to join the Night's Watch."

"Piss on that oath," his father said quickly and Robb smiled.

"Then what will you do now?"

"I will get your sisters back," he told him. "And they will get the Kingslayer."

"Some of your men will not like that," his wife told him. "Ned, the Karstarks want vengeance. Jaime Lannister killed two of Rickard Karstark's sons."

"Aye?" Ned said in surprise. "Is that why he was not here to meet me?"

"I put his men across the Tumblestone," Robb told him. "As far away from the castle and the Kingslayer as possible."

"A wise move," said his father. "I guess I will have to deal with him. And where is Theon Greyjoy? I thought to see him beside you."

Robb and his mother exchanged a quick look. "I sent him to Pyke to ask for an alliance with his father."

His father looked at him for a long moment. "Balon Greyjoy will never agree."

"Mother said the same," Robb told him. "I thought…Theon is almost like a brother to..."

"No," his mother said quickly. "He was our hostage for almost ten years, not your brother. Balon Greyjoy will not forget that. Nor will he forget what happened to his other two sons."

"Aye," said Ned.

"I'm sorry," Robb said, feeling the sting of their disagreement.

"Not to worry lad," said his father. "The Greyjoys are the least of our concerns right now. We must first trade the Kingslayer for the girls."

"This will cause trouble," Catelyn told him. "The other captains may not agree to hand over the Kingslayer for two girls."

"Troubles enough we have without having a war we cannot win quickly," Ned replied. "I will make them see reason. Winter is coming and we all know what that means. We may have time for one more harvest and even with that if the winter lasts too long we will have hunger. This war has taken much of our supplies and has ruined the Riverlands. Renly and Stannis gather forces near King's Landing and maybe soon it will burn as well."

"I hope they all burn in hell," his mother said fiercely.

"Cersei and Joffrey especially," Robb added.

"If the gods are good they will, some day," his father said. "Cersei is not enjoying being a widow. While at Harrenhal I heard more than one rumor that Cersei is sending almost daily ravens to her father asking for his army to come south. But he will dare not move until we are far away from Harrenhal and Casterly Rock."

"Where will we go?" Robb asked him.

"Home," his father said. "Eventually. We will march north. At the Twins we stop and we will wait."

"Wait for what?" his mother asked in puzzlement.

"For Princess Myrcella. She will be coming to Winterfell."

"A hostage?" Catelyn said and then her eyes grew wide. "And who did you have to promise in return?"

"No one," Ned told them. "I told Tywin Lannister those were my terms and he could rot in hell before I'd give him a family member of mine in return."

Robb had to smile at the boldness of that. "I'm sure he took that well."

"I knew he wouldn't. And I also know he would not forget that we took his sons prisoner and raised an army against him. That's why I demanded a hostage. I also wanted to see how desperate he was. He knows that's what I was doing. It took two days but he finally relented."

"Why the Twins?" Robb asked him next.

"That was my choice," Ned told them. "Far enough north to make him feel a bit comfortable but not so far north we can't rush down on him from behind when he marches south if need be."

"Then we are leaving Renly and Stannis alone to face the Lannisters?" Catelyn asked.

Ned sighed. "Not my wish but I see little choice. They will not agree to join forces. We will be three armies separated with Tywin in the middle. He can defeat us one army at a time."

"We can march on Casterly Rock," Robb said quickly. "Then he will…"

His father shook his head. "Casterly Rock is a bastion we cannot take in a day or maybe even in five hundred days. Tywin knows this. No, we must get back the girls, and then we march for the Twins and home. That is my counsel."

They were silent for a moment, and then Robb spoke. "These men of the north will not like it. They have tasted victory and want more."

"That is my responsibility," his father said. "I must convince them to march to the Twins."

"There is other news you must know concerning the Twins and the Freys," Catelyn said and Robb knew what was coming next.

"Aye?" his father asked after he drank some wine.

"We had to promise Robb to one of his daughters or granddaughters to use his bridge."

"Seven hells," Ned Stark said quietly and Robb had to laugh at that.

"That's what I thought," he said.

"Walder Frey," Ned said, grimacing in anger. "Made you promise Robb to one of his own to use his bridge? Is he not a bannerman to Riverrun?"

"Yes," said Catelyn. "But you know what he is like. And...there is more."

"More?" Ned asked. "He is getting enough already."

"We also had to promise Arya to his youngest son," Robb said quickly, hoping the quicker he said it the less painful it would be.

"Arya," his father said in a growl. "She would not have it. She would run away. And if she married a Frey she would likely kill him on her wedding night rather than be bed."

"She will do as she is told!" Catelyn said strongly. "Ned, these promises we made cannot be broken. A quarter of Robb's army is Freys. Without that bridge and their help we would never have taken the Kingslayer or Riverrun. Walder Frey will have his price paid or we will never have use of that bridge again or in many generations to follow."

His father sighed heavily. "Aye. But Arya will not like it."

"No more than I will, I suppose," Robb said with a bitter laugh.

"You will both do your duty," his mother told him sternly.

"Arya is too young to be wed yet," his father said and then he looked at Robb. "But I doubt Walder Frey will allow us to continue to use his men or bridge without some kind of payment now."

Robb sighed. "I guess I have no choice."

"No," said his mother resignedly.

"I suppose he must have at least one comely daughter or granddaughter," Robb said, half in jest.

"With so many one would hope so," his father replied with a grin. "Not to worry lad. We will take our time and you pick the one you like best and if the gods are good she will give you many sons and daughters and keep your bed warm until you are too old to get out of it."

Robb laughed. "I should like that very much."

"Good," said his mother with relief. "As for Arya, well…I suppose she might find the Frey boy likable."

Ned and Robb both laughed this time. "She is a willful child," Ned said. "She is Lyanna reborn. She never liked being told what to do either."

"Arya will do her duty!" Catelyn said strongly.

"That is in the future," her husband replied and Robb knew that was not the end of it and there would be more fights about Arya and her future husband. "Well, we shall have at least one wedding at the Twins soon enough."

"And then?" Robb asked.

"Then we go home to Winterfell with your bride, and bring in the harvest," his father told him. "Winter is coming and we will all be doomed if we are not ready. This war we cannot win in a day or a month, even if we ally with Stannis or Renly. They are too stubborn to set aside their differences. So it is time to set aside our differences with the Lannisters until the snows have passed. And if the gods are good maybe Renly and Stannis will defeat Tywin Lannister."

"What if they lose?" his mother asked.

"That is why I asked for Myrcella," his father replied. "But we will still keep our swords sharp. And if Tywin Lannister thinks he can cross the Neck and root us out of Winterfell he is welcome to try. We have high walls, plenty of food and fodder and firewood. The Lannisters will freeze and be buried in the snows and will starve. Not one Lannister will ever set foot in Winterfell again, I promise you that before all the gods, old and new."


	13. Chapter 13 Tyrion

**Ned Stark Lives! Chapter 13 Tyrion**

"And here I thought to meet you again in King's Landing," Tyrion Lannister said to his brother Jaime after the Blackfish finally consented to giving them some privacy for their meeting and left, closing the door behind him.

"You and your thrice damned wish to see the Wall," his brother Jaime said with a grin from across the small table in his stuffy room where he was held prisoner in Riverrun. He looked well for a man with manacles on his hands, Tyrion thought. He was thinner, to be sure, but his hair had been washed recently, and it looked like his beard and hair had been trimmed as well. His clothing, while rather plain and a dull brown color, seemed clean and neat.

"Yes," said Tyrion as he sat down in the second chair. "My visit to the Wall is to blame for this war and all the madness that came from it."

"If you had been where you should have been you would never have been taken prisoner by Catelyn Stark."

"What is done is done, brother. And I was not the one to try to kill Brandon Stark, thank you for asking. Twice it seems someone tried to kill him, and failing both times."

Jaime stared at him, and then grinned in his usual confident way. "The Stark boy fell. Gods knows who paid the assassin. Not you, I am sure."

"Not me," Tyrion replied. "As I have said often and loudly to Ned Stark on our journeys."

"Tell me all of your adventures."

"I have a thirst that needs quenching first." Tyrion reached for the clay jug on the table, looked inside, sniffed and then cursed. "Water! I have a thirst, but for something a little stronger."

"My gaolers have been most remiss in providing me with any creature comforts," Jaime said. "Although I guess I shouldn't complain. I heard Cersei had Ned Stark in the black cells."

"Indeed," said Tyrion. "She was most put out when he tried to push her aside after Robert died. Stark claims he had a letter from Robert naming him protector of the land, or realm, or something like that. She tore it up in front of the whole court."

"That's our lovely sister," Jaime said with a bit of a laugh.

"A foolish bit of theater," Tyrion replied strongly and Jaime's face fell. "Stark was no danger to our family."

"He was going to arrest her and the children!"

"Ned Stark is too honorable to have hurt them. He claims he wanted to protect them."

"He wanted the throne!"

"Not really, dear brother," Tyrion said quietly. "He wanted to go home, before you and your men assaulted him in the streets. And then the honorable oaf wanted justice, for crimes he thinks our family committed."

"What crimes?" his brother asked and Tyrion knew he knew what he was talking about.

Tyrion did not want to get to this point so fast, but here it was and it had to be discussed. He wanted the truth, the truth he had suspected for years.

"Brother, I care for you deeply," he said. "So I would like to speak frankly and have this done with so I know where things stand. I will never tell Father, surely you know that. But I will have some truths from you."

Jaime grinned in his usual carefree way, as if he had no worries in the world, despite his present predicament. "Ask me anything you want."

So that's how he wants it. So be it. "How long have you been fucking our dear sweet sister?"

He saw anger flash in his brother's eyes, an anger that subsided before Jamie gave another grin and spoke in a joking way. "Have you been reading Stannis Baratheon's latest lies?"

"No, Jaime, I have been reading you and Cersei for years. Reading your body language, reading the looks you share, reading how you and she always seemed to be not about at the same time, and then suddenly appearing together. Especially reading how much time you spent with her whenever Robert was not around."

Now Jaime was angry. "Ned Stark was reading too, reading a book about the great houses, listening to poison put in his head by Stannis or Jon Arryn or someone else. He seemed to come to the foolish conclusion that Robert's children were not his. Do you believe they are mine, dear brother?"

"I have seen one of Robert's bastard sons," Tyrion replied. "A bastard of King's Landing aged fifteen years, name of Waters, of course, but still his son. He has jet black hair, and deep blue eyes, Robert's square jaw, black beard, and his bulk. In a funny sort of twist the boy happens to be training to be a smith, an armorer to be more exact, and wields a hammer as his father once did."

"So Robert has a bastard son. I am sure he is not the only one."

"No, indeed not. Ned Stark knows of two other children. Mya Stone and Edric Storm. Bastards yes, but apparently all with Robert's look. Only the gods knows how many more bastards he has scattered throughout the Seven Kingdoms."

"What does that prove?" Jaime shot back. "That Robert Baratheon was an unfaithful husband to our sister is all."

Tyrion shook his head. "No. It proves that Jon Arryn's last words have some meaning. Ned Stark and I had long discussions on the matter. Jon Arryn repeatedly said "the seed is strong" on his death bed. He meant Robert's seed, that his seed was dominant. Stark told me all of the Baratheon children in the male line for almost three hundred years, since their line began, have been black haired and blue eye. That is until Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen. Fair haired and green eyed. Like Cersei. And you."

Jaime stared at him for a long time as the words hung in the air, and on his face Tyrion at first saw another protest building and then suddenly Jaime's face fell and Tyrion saw resignation. Finally Jaime spoke, very quietly, his eyes looking down at the table, not at his brother. "They must never know."

Tyrion knew who 'they' were. Jaime and Cersei's children.

"Not from me, dear brother," Tyrion said. "But…Stannis' letters…Joffrey is sure to have heard by now."

Jaime looked up and Tyrion saw the hurt and pain in his eyes, the pain of living a lie for so long, a lie that was finally revealed. "Cersei will tell him it's a lie."

"Of course she will. She is used to lying about it by now. But she didn't lie to Ned Stark. She told him the truth when he confronted her."

That shook him, he could see, and Tyrion knew that was something Cersei had never told him, never had time to tell him perhaps before all this began. Jaime grew angry again. "Then why have you been playing this mummer's farce with me if you knew the truth?"

"Stark might have lied. And I needed to hear it from you."

Jaime grunted. "Now you know. And what's does our little brother think of his big brother and big sister's crime?"

Tyrion shrugged. "I should be aghast, horrified, and sickened. But strangely I find myself indifferent. Maybe it's because I have suspected this for many years, so I have grown used to it. But it does leave many unanswered questions such as…"

"I threw the Stark boy out the window," Jaime said in a bare whisper.

"Ah…so, Ned Stark had the right of that as well. The boy saw you and Cersei?"

"Yes. He was climbing the walls and saw us through a window."

Tyrion sighed heavily. "And the footpad with the dagger who.."

Now Jaime's eyes flashed dangerously. "I will take blame for the rest but it was not me who paid the assassin!"

No, Tyrion thought, he is not lying about that. "Then it was Cer…"

"No, no, and no!" Jaime quickly said. "She had nothing to do with it either. Oh, she was so angry after I did it. She wanted to claw my eyes out. She said she could have silenced him, said she could convince him he was confused, didn't know what he had seen. And who ever believes the stories of a child? Afterwards I knew she was right. I knew it was a mistake to push the boy. But then it was too late."

"Is this regret brother?" That was odd for him, Tyrion thought. His brother had seldom regretted anything in his life.

"Perhaps," he answered.

"Ned Stark and his wife think I paid the assassin."

"I know. You have my apologies for that."

Tyrion snorted. "It was not you who made them think it was me. It was Petyr Baelish, who Cersei has now arrested, according to the latest raven before we left Harrenhal."

"Really? Littlefinger arrested? There is much and more you have yet to tell me. Now that we have gotten that ugly business out of the way, my first request still stands. I would hear of your adventures."

And so they talked, for more than an hour, and Tyrion told him all that had happened and all he suspected. When he finished and Jaime had no more questions, they got to the serious business of setting him free.

"What terms has our lord father offered the Starks?"

"The release of their daughters for you to begin with."

"Of course."

"Robb Stark, the other northern lords and the Riverlands lords must swear fealty to Joffrey."

"They won't go to King's Landing."

"It will be done here, to you."

"How fitting. Rickard Karstark won't bend the knee."

"Oh? Why not? Does he have a bad back?"

"I killed two of his sons in the Whispering Wood. He wants my head."

"He can't have it," Tyrion said strongly. "That is for Ned Stark to settle. Second, all of Robb Stark's men from the north will retire to the Twins and then…I fear to tell you this, but Father has offered them a hostage. Myrcella."

Jaime grunted. "A hostage for Father's future goodwill, no doubt."

"Yes," Tyrion told him."Stark is no fool, despite his mistakes in Kings' Landing. He knows Father will come after him and his son one day. Myrcella is his protection against that."

"Wise. Is there anything else?" Jaime asked next. He seemed strangely detached from the notion of his daughter being made a hostage, Tyrion thought. Then again, for years he has kept his distance from them, so maybe he has no strong feelings for his children.

"Just the usual. Exchanging and ransoming of minor prisoners, returning of bones of the dead in King's Landing, and certain items, such as Stark's sword Ice."

"Minor points," Jaime said. "The main problem will be Stark convincing his men to trade me for two girls."

"He will convince them. You know the Stark words?"

"Winter is coming."

"Yes. And it seems sooner than we thought. Stark has said this to me a number of times in the past few weeks. If we don't prepare now we are doomed."

Jaime snorted. "The Starks are always so dour and pessimistic. We have both seen winter. It is nothing to be sneered at but it is not as fearsome as the Stark's make out."

"We have seen southern winters, brother, and short ones at that. The one I remember when I was a boy of almost eight lasted less than a year."

"More," Jaime said. "That was the year of the false spring, and then the snows returned for another six months."

"Was it that year? I suppose you are right."

Jaime cared not to reminisce over winter's past and was more concerned with matters present. "When will I be exchanged?"

"I know not. We have heard more from Cersei. Along with the news of Baelish's arrest she said that Sansa Stark has left the city and is on her way to Harrenhal with an escort. Myrcella is with them, with the Hound as her shield."

"The Hound? He is Joffrey's shield."

"Apparently not anymore. Arya Stark is at Harrenhal already, so it is just a matter of when we can iron out the details and Sansa Stark arrives."

Jaime sighed. "Another week or more at least."

Tyrion nodded. "Afraid so brother."

"I would ask you to help set me free but I suppose that would put a damper on negotiations."

Tyrion raised his eyebrows. "Indeed it would. Are you anxious to have both our heads put on spikes on Riverrun's highest wall?"

Jamie laughed. "They would never kill us. They know they would never get their precious daughters back."

"No, perhaps not, but they would toss me in here with you or perhaps even a drearier place. And they would kill the men with me and that we cannot have. So, sorry, but you will have to wait to taste freedom again."

"You know I hate waiting."

"It can't be helped," Tyrion told him, hoping he was rid of the foolish notion of an escape attempt. If Father had sent any other man perhaps Jaime would have convinced them or bullied them into trying. "Now, I must get some wine and food and see that my squire has taken care of my horse. Can I ask them to provide you with anything?"

"I'd ask for a woman but we both know I care not for any but one."

"Do you love her?" Tyrion asked in a quiet voice.

"Always," Jaime said swiftly. "And you as well brother."

Tyrion felt his throat constrict, always knowing his brother felt this way, but seldom hearing it. "As I you," he managed to say. "I will see that you get some better food and a bit of wine. Perhaps on the morrow."

"Splendid. Keep me informed, dear brother. I long for the day I will be free. And then it's off to beat the Baratheon brothers."

"More war. Oh, joy," Tyrion quipped. "But not for me. I am to go to King's Landing to be Hand to Joffrey." Tyrion had mentioned this in his story about his travels. "Of course, King's Landing may be where the war is by the time I take up my duties."

"I think I would rather face a thousand swords alone than be Hand," Jaime told him.

"Yes. The position seems cursed. Maybe I can beg Father for a reprieve. Perhaps I would be of more use counting sheep and casks of wine with the supply columns."

Jaime laughed. "Father uses men where they are most talented, little brother. He knows I have a sharp sword and you have a sharp mind."

"It took him long enough to realize that," Tyrion said and for a long few moments they said nothing. "Well, I think I have a flask of wine or two awaiting me in whatever dreary corner of the castle they will put me."

They made their farewells, with Tyrion promising to return with some wine and good food on the morrow. Tyrion knocked on the door, it was unlocked and he left. The Blackfish hadn't waited for him as Tyrion knew he would not. The guards gave him vague directions to the courtyard and after many false turns and many flights of stairs he found it. Pod was by the stables brushing their horses. Another young boy was there and he said he was instructed to bring them to their quarters and had been waiting for him. Fortunately, they were in a lower lever of the towering Keep so there were few stairs to climb and soon they had settled into some modest rooms.

Tyrion now wished he had brought Shae with him but it would have been too risky under his father's nose. He had plenty of chances to see her at Harrenhal, with its many empty rooms and secret places, but he couldn't very well ride out the main gate with her while his father was watching. They had brought no wagons with them where she could have hidden like the first time when he had went in search of Ned Stark. All their provisions they carried on horseback with Ser Jason's men. For one mad moment he thought of disguising Shae as a cavalry man but let his madness pass.

He also missed Bronn. While he feared no attack while under a peace banner, he did worry if negotiations broke down. But then again, Bronn would also be surrounded by Stark men and the rest and would die uselessly if they decided to take Tyrion prisoner as well as his brother. No, they would not do that he decided. Ned Stark truly wanted to end the war. As he thought on this a knock came to their door and a comely serving girl with blond hair brought in some food for them. It was mutton stew with potatoes and carrots, lots of thick slices of brown bread, some apples and pears on the side, and a flask of wine and a jug of ale. Now that was more like it.

Tyrion thanked the women and gave her a smile which she quickly turned away from and then left. "Maybe she doesn't like my hair style," he quipped to Pod.

"Yes, my lord," the boy said as they sat at a small table.

"A jest, Pod. You know, you really must learn to tell the difference."

"I will try, my lord."

"Good. Now let us eat this fine meal and have us a good drink to wash it down with."

That night Tyrion was resting in his room lying on his bed, reading a book by candlelight as Pod snoozed in the other bed. The room had a small window which looked out over the inner courtyard. Tyrion felt a chill in the air and moved to the window to close the wooden shutters for the night when he heard loud shouting from the courtyard. He got up but could barely see out the window even on his tiptoes. He got a chair and soon had a nice view of what was happening. Many men were in the courtyard, some on the ground, some on horseback. He saw a banner and knew it was the Karstarks.

"Oh, oh, trouble," he said aloud. But Ned Stark, his son, the Greatjon Umber, the Blackfish, Ser Edmure and many others were there as well. Ned seemed to be talking to one older man, who Tyrion guessed was Rickard Karstark. Suddenly the man pulled away from Ned.

"I will have justice for my sons!' he shouted. "I want the Kingslayer! Now!"

"You cannot have him!" Ned shouted back. "Rickard, old friend, listen to reason!"

"There is no reason!" Karstark shouted. "My sons are dead. All of your children are still alive!"

"Sansa and Arya are prisoners!" Robb yelled at Karstark.

"Aye," said Karstark. "And you would trade the murderer of my sons for two little girls. My sons who gave their lives so you could live." He spit on the ground. "I will not stand by while this happens. I will not bend the knee to the false king. I will have the Kingslayer or I will take my men and go home to bury my sons."

"Then you are an oath breaker!" the booming voice of the Greatjon shouted, heard all over the castle no doubt.

Karstark shouted back. "Oath breaker is it! My oath was to Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell. Not to his pup of a son who will not give me justice!" Then there were many angry shouts and cross words flew in both directions. Ned Stark and his son said nothing but waited for them to calm down. Then Ned Stark walked into the middle of the two groups.

"Lord Karstark has lost his sons," he began. "We can do nothing to bring them back. And we cannot give him the justice he asks for. Many others of you have lost family in this war. I cannot give you justice either. The Riverlands people have lost much and more than all of us. And they will get no justice either. My lords, I am no longer Lord of Winterfell, this is true. But you know my family's words. Winter is coming, truly coming, and I fear after this long summer it will be a most terrible winter. We must cast aside our differences and prepare. We must bend the knee as my forefather did to Aegon the Conqueror. It hurts a man's pride to bend the knee, I know. But a man who bends the knee may rise again someday. A man who does not will die."

They were silent for a long moment and then Karstark spit on the ground at Ned's feet. "I will not bend the knee. I will go home unless I get justice."

"So be it," Ned said. He looked at his son then.

Robb spoke in a quieter voice and Tyrion strained to hear him. "I am Lord of Winterfell now," he told Karstark. "Your oath is to the Lord of Winterfell, whether he be my father or his pup of a son. Your oath is also to the people of the north. If you go you will have broken your oath to me and to these other men and to the north. We will not stop you. But know this, Lord Karstark. You and yours will be shunned in the north. No family will trade with yours. No family will offer sons or daughters in marriage. No family will offer you help in times of trouble. You will be isolated. You will be alone, forever. All of these lords agree."

As one every northern lord in the courtyard shouted "Aye!"

Oh, that was smart, Tyrion thought. The father and son must have planned this well. How would Karstark take it?

"Then we will be alone," he said, a sound of defeat in his voice. "If I had more men I would fight you all and kill the Kingslayer. But I do not. So I will go home, and bury my sons and me and mine will live our lives as you say. It shames me that we have come to this because of a Lannister."

No one else said a word. And with that Karstark and his men turned around and started to leave the courtyard out the main gate and across the drawbridge over the moat. Tyrion could feel the tension leave the group of men below as they stood talking in lowered voices.

He closed the shutters and turned and Pod was standing right behind him. Tyrion was so surprised he almost fell off the chair.

"Sorry, my lord," Pod said as he grabbed Tryion's arm to steady him. He so happened to grab the right arm, at the elbow, and Tyrion could not help but wince in pain, causing Pod to let go and profusely apologize. The elbow no longer required a sling but was still a bit tender to the touch.

"Not to worry," he told his squire as he hopped down from the chair. "Did you hear all of that?"

"Mostly."

"Seems we have avoided trouble, for the moment. Well, we shall see on the morrow. We must present my lord father's terms before the lords assembled here. You will accompany me."

"Yes, my lord."

"Good. Now get some rest."

The next morning breakfast was brought to their rooms and after they ate and had dressed the Blackfish showed up.

"Ser Edmure and Lord Stark request your presence in the great hall, Imp," the Blackfish told him. "It is time to discuss your father's terms."

"Splendid," Tyrion replied. "I am ready. My squire will accompany me."

"No weapons," the Blackfish told them, looking at a dagger on Pod's belt.

"Of course not," Tyrion answered. "We are here to make peace, not war. Pod, remove your dagger."

"Yes, my lord," he replied and took the dagger out of its sheath and laid it on the table. On the table was a scroll, sealed with gold wax and his father's sigil. Pod picked it up and held it tight.

Tyrion and Pod followed the Blackfish and in a short time they were at the great hall. As far as great halls went, the great hall of Riverrun was bigger than many and smaller than some. It had nothing on the one in King's Landing and was tiny compared to Harrenhal's massive great hall with its many heaths. But it was still large enough to hold all of the northern and Riverlands lords, plus many others.

The trestle tables and benches had been placed along the walls, and they were now occupied by many men, mostly lords and their captains, Tyrion guessed. He did not know all their names, but that mattered not. He saw many cups and mugs of wine and ale and knew they had been drinking. That was not good. Then he cast his mismatched eyes on the raised platform at the end of the hall. Ser Edmure as heir to Riverrun took his father's seat in the large wooden throne like chair in the center that had a leaping fish carved in its high back. On his right sat Robb Stark, and on his left Catelyn Stark, his sister. The Blackfish went and stood beside his niece. And there was Ned Stark, sitting on a small chair beside his son. All were dressed in their finest clothing. Well, as fine as could be expected for an army on the march. Even Ned Stark had been given more refined clothing and Tyrion suddenly felt like he should have taken more care to bring better clothing. But most of his belongings were now in King's Landing and what he had brought to Winterfell and the Wall had been lost when he was captured. Well, there was nothing to be done about it now.

As Tyrion waddled to the middle of the room in front of the Tullys and Starks, with Pod right behind him, he felt every eye on him and also felt their hatred. Then the Blackfish shouted loudly.

"Lord Tyrion Lannister of Casterly Rock!" And then the silence was overwhelming. At least he didn't call me Imp, Tyrion thought. That is a good sign.

Ser Edmure spoke first. "Lord Tyrion, we have gathered to hear what terms you have brought."

Tyrion turned to Pod, who handed him the scroll. Tyrion then opened it and read.

"I am commanded to present these terms by order of my father, Lord Tywin Lannister of Casterly Rock, representing Joffrey Baratheon, First of His Name, King of …"

"False king!" someone shouted and there was a general murmur of agreement from the benches. Ser Edmure rose from his chair and Tyrion could see he was angry and so were the Starks and the Blackfish.

"Lord Tyrion has come under a peace banner!" Ser Edmure said loudly. "We will hear him out in a respectful manner."

"Not to worry, Ser Edmure," Tyrion said. "There is no need for me to go on about my nephew's titles. I shall get right to the main points."

"As you wish," said Ser Edmure.

Tyrion gave a short bow and then read. "Terms as discussed between Lords Eddard Stark of Winterfell and Tywin Lannister of Casterly Rock. Point 1. Both sides will exchange a herald, who will be responsible for seeing the terms of the agreement are reached. Said herald will be considered a neutral party and shall be treated according to his rank."

"Point 2. Ser Jaime Lannister shall be exchanged for Lady Sansa Stark and Lady Arya Stark at a place and time to be determined in the future." That brought some murmurs of discontent and Tyrion knew the Starks hadn't brought everyone to their point of view.

"Point 3. All other prisoners shall be exchanged and ransomed as negotiated between those who captured them and the prisoners' families. Prisoners may be exchanged without ransom payment or with, as each case is agreed to by each party. A detailed list of all prisoners will be provided by each side. As both parties agree that the ransoming of prisoners may take a long time, its completion shall not infringe on the completion of any other point." He knew his father put that final part in so he wouldn't be delayed in moving south while petty lords and minor knights squabbled over ransom money.

Tyrion paused for a second and no one said anything so he continued. "Point 4. The northern host commanded by Lord Robb Stark of Winterfell shall retire from Riverrun and proceed to the Twins on the Green Fork of the Trident River within three days of a formal agreement being reached."

"Point 5. The lord paramount of the Riverlands, Lord Hoster Tully, or his representative, shall command his bannermen to return to their home seats, also within three days of a formal agreement being reached."

"Point 6…" Tyrion paused, knowing this one was going to cause trouble. He looked up at Ned Stark and he saw him bracing for it as well. "Point 6…all northern lords and the lords of the Riverlands shall swear fealty to Joffrey Bara…"

"Lannister!" someone shouted. "Joffrey Lannister he means!" and then there was some laughter and shouts of "infamy" "incest" "bastard for a king" and then Ned Stark was on his feet, shouting, and soon the uproar ended.

"We are not here to discuss the parentage of the King," Stark told them in a loud and commanding tone. "Lord Tyrion has brought us terms. We have discussed these terms. When he finishes we shall give him our answer." There was silence. "Thank you, my lords," Stark said as he sat down again.

Tyrion took a deep breath and continued, deciding to again skip all of Joffrey's titles. "Said oath of fealty may be taken here in Riverrun to a representative of the King."

"Not the Kingslayer!" the Greatjon Umber shouted and more men voiced their agreement and Ser Edmure this time had to stand and silence them before Tyrion could continue. If not Jaime then who, he thought and then had a dreaded feeling it would be him. Which would be more preferable my lords and ladies, the Kingslayer or the Imp?

Tyrion continued. "Point 7. The Princess Myrcella Baratheon shall be sent as a ward to Winterfell. She shall be accompanied by a guard and some attendants as befitting her rank. Winterfell shall provide suitable accommodations for the Princess and her retainers. Winterfell shall see to the education of the Princess. The Princess will be allowed to make regular communications with her family and shall be allowed visitors on occasion. When the Princess reaches her fifteenth name day she will return to her family."

Tyrion expected some disagreement over that but no one said much except for a few low murmurs from the benches. Myrcella's fifteenth name day was less than six years from now. Perhaps Stark was gambling that Tyrion's father's wrath would be cooled by then. Tyrion knew it would not.

He continued to read the terms. "Point 8. Once the Princess Myrcella joins the northern host, the northern host shall retire north of the lands known as the Neck and shall not proceed south of this point without permission of the King." Tyrion knew Joffrey would never give permission, and also knew that no northern host would ever leave the north again except to come help put all their heads on spikes if the Baratheon brothers gained some significant victories. Another king or a man not as wise as his father might have made them join his army to fight the Baratheons, but such a forced ally at his side might show its true colors at the wrong moment.

"Point 9. Lord Eddard Stark's loss of titles and lands shall remain in effect. He shall take the black and join the Night's Watch as he swore an oath to. His titles and lands shall pass to his eldest son and his son's future heirs." Again there was some low murmuring on this point but no one shouted. Tyrion paused and looked at Stark and then his wife but neither one's face betrayed any emotion on this point. He wondered if Stark really planned to take the black.

"Point 10," Tyrion continued. "The remains of the dead of Lord Eddard Stark's household in King's Landing shall be returned to the north as speedily as possible. All of their personal effects shall be returned as well, if possible. The sword named Ice shall also be returned as speedily as possible."

"Point 11. These terms shall be formally agreed to by a signing ceremony between representatives of both sides. The place and time of such ceremony shall be decided in the future." Tyrion paused and took a breath. "My lords and lady, these are my father's terms. I await your answer on whether they are acceptable or not."

Now Robb Stark rose from his chair, his parents' and every other eye in the room on this boy of fifteen. "The terms as given are acceptable. Except we would like to add two points."

Oh, joy, Tyrion thought. Here's where the fun begins. "I shall listen to your requests and bring them to my lord father."

"First," Robb said. "We request one million gold dragons as compensation for the damages caused by your father's army to the Riverlands."

"That is a substantial amount," Tyrion said, a bit surprised by this request.

"Just tell your father to spend a few hours on the privy!" the Greatjon yelled out and great gales of laughter followed from those on the benches. But no one on the raised platform was laughing.

Tyrion waited for the laughter to die down and then he smiled. "You know, my lords, when I was a boy I sometimes snuck into his privy after he was done but I never found any gold. Alas, my father does not shit gold, my lords." After a stunned pause there was a second round of laughter, not as great as the first but laughter the same. Tyrion grinned and then took a glance at Lady Stark and saw a worried look on her face. Tyrion knew what she was thinking, but he also knew he had no chance to win these stern lords to his side. They were not sellswords, and hated him and his family too much.

After the laughter died Robb Stark continued. "Your father has that much and more hidden away in Casterly Rock. But we are not too greedy. The amount may be paid in gold or kind. In particular, the amount may be paid in animal herds and stored grain and other foodstuffs. Your father's armies have devastated the lands and winter is coming."

"Coming to Casterly Rock, as well," said Tyrion. "I believe my father would more willing part with his gold than the food our people will need. However, while we do have gold enough to make compensation, this point may cause us some difficulties, my lord. My father would not want to set a precedent of people asking for money for the things he does in time of war."

"We can camp here for a few more months if he is reluctant to part with his gold or food," Robb said sternly. "Perhaps by that time Stannis and Renly will set aside their differences and sack King's Landing once again. Let him decide if it is worth having his daughter's and grandson's heads on spikes to save his pride from being wounded."

"I shall bring him your request," Tyrion said, knowing his father would eventually agree. "There was one more point, was there not?"

Now Catelyn Stark stood as her son sat down. She had a look of calm regal elegance to her, and wore a lovely deep blue dress which set off her auburn hair nicely. "I have one more request," she said in a strong voice. "Someone attacked my son Bran, twice, at Winterfell. He is a cripple now and I will bear the scars of those attacks all my life, both outside and inside," she said as she held up her scarred hands for all to see and there was more angry murmuring. "I will have justice for my son."

"My lady," Tyrion began, dreading this moment, and, being a smart man, he had suspected it would come. "Your accusations against me have been the cause of much of this misery we are now here to end. I…"

"No, Imp," the Blackfish growled. Ah, there it was, his dreaded nickname. "She was not the cause. It was whoever pushed Bran off the tower and paid an assassin to kill him. That person is to blame for all of this."

Tyrion sighed. This would be just like with Catelyn and Ned all over again. Endless questions, endless denials. He would not give them the satisfaction of questioning him over things he wanted to forget. "What would you have me do, my lady?" he asked Catelyn Stark, looking directly at her.

"I would have the truth from you, but that would be too much to ask," she said. "I have thought long on your guilt in these matters and have discussed it at length with my son and husband. I.."

"Am I on trial again?" Tyrion asked suddenly, losing patience. "I thought I came here under a peace banner to…"

"Hold your tongue!" she almost shouted at him, but restrained herself to make it only a stern command. "I was about to say we now have doubts about your guilt."

Ah, so that's it. Now he had to be careful here. No quips or they would pull out his tongue for sure, peace banner or no. He knew it took a lot for her to say that in front of these people, to admit her mistake, and he would not hurt her with a stinging rebuke, much as he would like to. "I thank you for your honesty, Lady Stark. I bear no hard feelings for what happened." The hell I don't, Tyrion said to himself.

"I am not finished," she said next. "I believe you know who attacked my son. I believe you are protecting someone in your family."

"I assure you I do not know who did this," he lied. They still think it was Jaime and Cersei. And now I know it was, Jaime at least, but I can't very well say that or we'll never leave here with our heads. "Your husband and I discussed this many times, and many times we reached no conclusion."

"All Lannisters are liars!" shouted someone from his left side. "Have out his tongue!" another voice shouted from behind him, and many said 'aye' to this last comment.

Catelyn Stark sighed. "If you will not give us the truth then as the last point in these peace terms we request a formal investigation into what happened to Bran. When the war is concluded, we would ask that a neutral party of lords to come to Winterfell and question him and discover the truth. And then we want those responsible brought to justice."

Tyrion nodded. "I shall give my father your request." He knew it was just an empty promise and by the look on Ned Stark's face he knew it was too. Perhaps he only allowed this to please his wife. What neutral lords were there in the land anyway? Almost everyone was at war. The only neutrals in the war so far were the Vale, the Greyjoys of the Iron Islands, and the Martells of Dorne. The Vale was run by a soft headed woman and her horrid son, who had Tully blood and were no neutrals as far as Tyrion was concerned. As for the others, the Greyjoys hated the Starks and the Martells hated the Lannisters. There were no true neutrals in the Seven Kingdoms.

As Tyrion finished promising to tell his father their requests Lady Stark nodded and sat and now Ser Edmure rose again. "Then Lord Tyrion we are done with these negotiations. A swift response to our requests will sooner bring an end to our war. The maester of Riverrun will send a raven to Harrenhal with our additional requests. You may write to your father and let him know."

Ned Stark now stood. "I think two ravens should be sent to make sure the message gets through. And I would request my daughter Arya write back to tell me how she is. Also ask for news of Sansa."

"I shall do as you ask," Tyrion said. Ned Stark did not know Sansa had already left King's Landing. His father told him to keep that point a secret, for now.

"Then we are done for the moment," Ser Edmure told him. "You may dine with us tonight if you wish, Lord Tyrion."

Tyrion grinned. He knew they didn't want him at their table; he was just being formal. "I would like that," he answered. "But I don't think many of your lords would. No, I shall have to respectively decline. I will sup with my men outside the walls, if that is acceptable."

"As you wish," said Ser Edmure. "Ah, here is the maester now."

Tyrion made his goodbyes and the hall begin to fill with talk as the maester led him and Pod to the castle raven roost. As they walked Tyrion thought on what was not said. No one mentioned the absent Karstarks or what had happened last night. Tyrion wondered if he should include that information in his letter but knew the maester would read it and report all to the Starks and Tullys. Would his father drag this out to make the Karstarks bend the knee? Most likely not, not with so much at stake in the south.

They stopped first at a small room below where the birds were kept. The noise of the ravens above their heads was very loud. The maester gave him ink and a quill and Tyrion wrote out the messages in as small as script as he could so he could write more. After he made the two copies they ascended to the noisy roost where the cold wind blowing through the many windows made the smell of bird shit just a little bit more bearable. The maester selected two ravens. "I do hope they get through and come back," he said. "They are my only ravens for Harrenhal."

"I am sure they will find their way home. Maester, may I ask a question?"

"You may, my lord," said the old man as he attached the first rolled up message to a raven.

"How is Lord Tully?"

The maester sighed. "Not long for this world, I am afraid."

"Then Ser Edmure will soon be master of Riverrun?"

"Yes, my lord." He then threw the first raven out a window and it was soon flying away.

"He seems like a reasonable fellow."

"Oh, Ser Edmure is quite the fine man." The maester replied as he began attaching the second tightly rolled parchment to the second raven.

"The Tullys don't like me or my family," Tyrion said in a matter of fact way.

"For good reasons, my lord." Then the second bird was away.

"Yes. I cannot deny that. Thank you, maester. We will find our way out."

A bit later he and Pod arrived outside the walls of the castle and crossed the moat. The Stark and Tully camps were smelly and noisy and had the sounds of men practicing for war and trying to relieve their boredom. At the small camp where Bronn and Ser Jason were set up, near the moat, he found Bronn sitting on a camp chair outside a grey tent, honing his sword's edge with long, loving strokes of a whetstone. A clay jug of something was on the ground by his chair. He didn't make a move as Tyrion and Pod approached.

"How fair things, Bronn?" Tyrion asked as he picked up the jug, sniffed, and then drank some wine, sour stuff but still refreshing.

"Not too bad," Bronn replied. "The food is fair but the wine is shit."

"Yes," said Tyrion as he drank again. "But negotiating gives me a thirst and hospitality was thin on the ground inside this morning." He turned to his squire. "Pod, find me a chair and also find Ser Jason."

"Yes, my lord."

After Pod left, Bronn continued sharpening his sword. Tyrion felt cramps burning in his legs. Too many damn stairs up and down to the raven roost. "You know Bronn, most men would offer their only chair to their lord."

"Aye, but you're not my lord."

Tyrion felt his hackles rising. "I have been walking up and down these damnable stairs inside and…"

Bronn stood. "No need to cry over it. The chair is yours."

"Thank you," said Tyrion as he sat and felt the cramps in his short legs ease. Bronn easily lowered himself to the ground and continued to sharpen his sword.

"So, how did we do?" Bronn asked as Tyrion drank some more.

"They agreed to everything. Except they want gold or food for the damage my father's army caused."

"Sounds fair. I'm sure he has the gold at least."

"He does. But it will rankle him to give it to them. They also want a formal investigation into what happened to Brandon Stark."

"You knew they wouldn't let that go."

"Yes."

"How's your brother?" Bronn asked next.

"Well as can be expected. Thinner, and bored out of his mind. At least they gave him a bath and a haircut."

"Most likely only when they knew you was coming."

Tyrion chuckled. "Yes." Then his mood grew serious. "He asked me to help him escape."

"Aye? Well, good luck with that."

"I knew you would never be foolish enough to involve yourself in such a mad scheme. Of course I told him no."

"Good."

"Yes, but we may have trouble yet."

"Oh?"

Tyrion explained about the Karstarks. "Aye," said Bronn. "We heard a lot of noise last night when that lot crossed the bridge. They rode off across the Tumblestone and then off to the north."

"They could be anywhere now," Tyrion said. "Lying in ambush for us when we return to Harrenhal, for instance. I am not the one who killed Lord Karstark's sons but I am a Lannister still the same. I should like to keep my head."

Just then Pod returned with Ser Jason but no chair, but by now Tyrion was comfortable and did not care. They talked long on what had happened inside and knew they would have to wait a few days to hear from Lord Tywin on what to do next.

"Now it is just waiting," said Tyrion to them. "Waiting for my father's messages. Waiting for Sansa Stark to get to Harrenhal. Waiting for her and her sister to be traded for Jaime."

"And then what?" Bronn asked.

"Then we go south," Tyrion said ruefully. "To King's Landing, finally. And back into the war. Let us hope Ned Stark keeps his promises and we have no northern army at our back while we deal with the Baratheon brothers."

"You won't be at war," Ser Jason said. "You will be Hand of the King, my lord."

"Yes," said Tyrion with a snort. "Hand of a King everyone despises and wants to kill. How do you think they will treat me if King's Landing falls?"

"Stannis will put your head on a spike next to Joffrey's," said Bronn as he stood and sheathed his sword.

Tyrion couldn't help but laugh. "Always telling it like it is, Bronn. I like that. Please don't stop."

He shrugged. "Just being truthful."

"Yes, I could stand a little bit more truthfulness. I won't find it in King's Landing, not in that nest of snakes. We are going to try save the city, gentlemen. But the only question is will my sister and nephew and the Baratheon brothers let us do it before it is too late."


	14. Chapter 14 Sansa

**Ned Stark Lives! Chapter 14 Sansa**

Sansa left King's Landing during a riot. The riot was outside the city walls by the Gate of the Gods. The small folk fleeing the war in the Riverlands and near Gods Eye had been camped here for many days, and gradually the numbers grew until the camp looked like a small town attached like a tumor to the stinking morass that was King's Landing. Many had nothing but the few belongings they could carry, while others had a cart or wagon and perhaps an ox or horse, but soon the animals were butchered and the meat sold and consumed. Despite this, food was scarce and before long farmer's daughters and even their mothers were selling their bodies for a meager loaf of bread or a few ears of corn. Soon even this would not buy them anything as there was nothing to buy. Some resourceful criminals in the city had manage to get some food and sold it at outrageous prices in the camps, but the city was mainly sealed tight, the gold cloaks manning the Gate of the Gods and the other gates in force, and were not allowing anyone into the city or anyone out who carried any food.

Sansa could hear the people even as they assembled by the gate to leave. She and Jeyne had mainly stayed in her rooms for the past two days after she and the Hound had rescued her friend from Lord Baelish's 'establishment'. Sansa had no idea what had happened to Baelish and really did not care if he rotted in the black cells forever. After many tears and much shaking Jeyne had finally told her what had happened to her. The Hound had the right of it. They were training her in the arts of love, planning to sell her to a wealthy lord or merchant who would pay her weight in gold for her maidenhead. Like Sansa, Jeyne had not yet counted thirteen name days. Unlike Sansa, she had already had her first moon's blood, while in captivity, and Baelish told her they were only waiting for her to feel better before she would be offered up to the greed and lust of men. Jeyne refused to give details of her training and Sansa had no real desire to know.

Now they stood next to two riding palfreys in the open area near the Gate of the Gods as their party assembled. There were five large supply wagons, loaded with tents and food for their group. Ser Robyn Serrett and his fifty Lannister men were there, standing by their horses, as was the Hound and his massive war horse Sansa had heard him call Stranger. Princess Myrcella and two handmaidens a few years older than Sansa were also there, standing next to a small wheel house pulled by eight horses, which they would ride in on the journey north. It was small compared to the one the Queen had which Sansa had spent time in on the way south, but it was still a large wooden house on wheels. The Queen and Prince Tommen had come to say goodbye. And so had Joffrey.

Sansa had not seen him since the night he had had his guard beat her. Now he was here in his kingly clothes with his crown on his head and sword at his side, coming to bid farewell to his sister. All of the Kingsguard was here as well, and there must have been well over three hundred gold cloaks with their leader Slynt, the one who had arrested Baelish.

Sansa and Jeyne waited by their horses as Joffrey said goodbye to his sister. They could not hear what he said to her, but they could see Tommen was weeping as his mother held his hand. Cersei also looked like she wanted to cry, but kept a brave face on in front of all the assembled people. Tommen ran to Myrcella and gave her a hug and then the Princess was crying as well. Joffrey made a sneering face and spoke loudly.

"Why are you crying? You'll be back in a few weeks once we defeat uncles Stannis and Renly. Then our grandfather will show Robb Stark who is the real master of war in the Seven Kingdoms."

No one said a word and Joffrey stood there looking pompous and proud of himself. His mother narrowed her eyes slightly as she stood behind her son the King but she said nothing to dispute his comments. Sansa had heard rumors that Renly Baratheon was only twenty leagues south of the city, while his brother Stannis gathered over 200 ships on Dragonstone, preparing for an invasion of the city. The rumors also said that the two brothers hated each other and both wanted to be king in place of their dead older brother. Sansa still wondered how they could have such a claim over King Robert's son. There he was, sneering like a spoiled child, she thought. She now wondered how she could ever think she loved him. Then Joffrey was looking at her, and the Hound, who was by her side. He walked over to them as the Queen had some final words with her daughter.

"I see you've found a new bitch, dog," Joffrey said with a stupid grin on his face.

"She is a lady, not a bitch, Your Grace," the Hound growled.

Joffrey got that angry look in his eye that Sansa came to dread. "She is a bitch, dog, and nothing else! A northern whore whose father and brother and mother are traitors." Now he looked at Sansa. "Thank the gods the High Septon released me from my promise to wed you. Now I can marry a real woman, a real princess, not some stupid whore of a traitorous family. You know, if my uncle hadn't been stupid enough to get caught, you'd stay here forever. Then I would make you my whore, for real."

"Yes, Your Grace," was all Sansa could say in reply, casting her eyes down, not wishing him to see the joy she felt because she was leaving and not caring about his words he had said to hurt her. She was no whore, she knew that, and she knew her family were not traitors. But she said nothing, not wanting a scene and not wanting to give him any reason to keep her here as he wanted. Sansa kept her silence, despite knowing that maybe he had no power to keep her here now. She had heard from the Hound that Ser Jaime Lannister had been captured by her brother and she was to be exchanged for him along with Arya, now at Harrenhal.

Joffrey said nothing else, let out an angry breath of air, and then looked once more at the Hound. "Don't ever come back to King's Landing, dog. You are no longer welcome at my court. My mother may trust you to protect my sister, but I'll never trust you again."

"Yes, Your Grace," the Hound said without emotion. Joffrey stared at him for a long moment, and Sansa feared he would do something terrible, but then he turned away and shouted for his horse. It was brought, a white charger, and then he mounted up, as did his three of his Kingsguard. They left up the street toward the hill far away with the Red Keep on it, with fifty gold cloaks on foot marching bedside them.

Then the Queen was in front of Sansa and the Hound. She spoke to the Hound. "My son has taken a dislike to you, Clegane."

"I know, Your Grace," he replied.

"Fear not," she said. "Do your duty and you will have my and House Lannister's eternal gratitude. But if any harm comes to my daughter…well, I need not say anymore, do I?"

"No, Your Grace."

"Good." Then she looked at Sansa and gave her a sad look. "Farewell, little dove. I fear we shall not see each other again, at least not for a long time. You know, I was looking forward to having you part of my family."

That truly shocked Sansa. "I…thank you, Your Grace," was all she could say.

"But you truly don't want that now, do you?" Cersei asked her, her eyes searching Sansa's face.

This was dangerous ground. But Sansa felt safe knowing that the Queen wanted her brother freed. "I'm sorry. But no, I don't, Your Grace," she said in a bare whisper.

"Ah, some truths from you at last, Lady Stark," Cersei said in a slight mocking tone. Then her face turned serious. "Please be a friend to Myrcella. Make sure she is well, and that she writes to us often."

"I will, Your Grace."

Cersei cast her eyes back to the Hound for a quick glance. "And tell your father to make sure Clegane does not drink all of the wine in Winterfell's cellars."

"Yes, Your Grace."

"Good." She cast a look at Jeyne, but said not a word to her and Sansa felt relief. They had feared someone might stop Jeyne from leaving but no one seemed to even know who she was or cared much about her. Sansa wondered if the Queen already knew what had happened to Jeyne at Baelish's place. Then the Queen turned and looked for someone and then Ser Robyn came over, leading his horse. "Ser Robyn, I put my daughter's safety in you and your men's hands. Do not fail me."

"Yes, Your Grace. I must ask leave to protest once again about this wheel house. It is an encumbrance we do not need. Speed is of the essence here."

"It is done, Ser Robyn and I will not undo it. The Princess rides in comfort."

Ser Robyn looked like he wanted to protest more but just nodded. "Yes, Your Grace. With your leave we will depart."

"In a moment." Cersei walked over to Myrcella, where she was talking to Tommen, gave her one last hug, and then waited for her and her two hand maidens to enter the house on wheels. With that she looked to Ser Robyn, nodded, and he and his men then mounted up.

"Time to go home, little birds," the Hound said and then he mounted and Sansa and Jeyne did as well. They were wearing riding clothes, leather breeches and boots, linen blouses and woolen jackets, plus leather gloves on their hands. Sansa's jacket was dark blue in color while Jeyne wore brown. The clothes Jeyne wore the Hound had managed to find in the castle and Sansa's were her own, ones she had brought from Winterfell. Many of her other clothes were in two chests in one of the wagons. Strapped across the back of her saddle above the saddle bags was her father's sword, Ice. She had not expected to have it, but as they prepared their horses that morning at the stables the Hound and Ser Ilyn Payne, the scary headsman with no tongue, approached them. Ser Ilyn thrust out her father's sword toward her hilt first in its scabbard and she stood there gaping at him, not understanding.

"Your father's sword, little bird," the Hound explained. "The Queen said your father demanded it as part of the peace terms he is negotiating with Lord Tywin. I will carry it if…"

"No," she said swiftly. It belonged to her father, to her house. A Stark had to carry it. Sansa did not know much of swords and war but she knew that she had to carry her father's sword. "I will. I mean, it's too heavy for me, but on my saddle, perhaps?"

"Yes," said the Hound and he strapped it on her saddle behind the seat.

Now they were all mounted and the commander of the gold cloaks, that Slynt man, then ordered the gates opened and his large group of men moved past him and out the gates. And that's when the riot began.

The people were crowded around the gate and the noise was soon overwhelming. The cries for food and shelter, the pleas for help and to allow them to enter the city rang out. The gold cloaks pushed them back at spear point and the people moved. The gold cloaks formed a cordon through which their commander now walked and then Ser Robyn moved out followed by half of his men and the wheel house with the Princess. The noise grew louder and Sansa, Jeyne and the Hound moved directly behind the wheel house. Behind them came the five wagons and the rest of Ser Robyn's men. Then they were out the gates and out of King's Landing at last.

Sansa saw the people and her heart quailed. They were ragged and thin and had haunted looks in their eyes. They were crying and pushing and the gold cloaks barely kept them back. But when the five wagons with their supplies came out of the gates, the noisy crowd went berserk. One man hit a gold cloak with a large rock and he went down and then many charged through the gap in the lines. They scrambled up on the wagons and soon the drivers were knocked from their seats. People went down under the spears of gold cloaks but more broke through and more gold cloaks fell. The food and other supplies in the wagons was being tossed down, barrels of salt beef and fish overturned, the contents quickly gathered up. Loaves of hard bread, bags of oats and peas and ears of corn went flying as did many of Sansa's best dresses and shoes. A cask of wine fell and sprang leaks and the small folk started fighting to get at its contents.

Then the rest of Ser Robyn's men at the rear charged with their lances and swords and dozens of small folk fell under their blows. As Sansa saw all this suddenly the Hound's scarred face was screaming at her.

"RIDE!" he yelled and she suddenly realized she had fallen behind the wheel house and the rest of the party. Jeyne was far ahead of the wheel house, which now had ten of Ser Robyn's men around it. Sansa turned and as she did so a man's hand grabbed her right boot and he tried to pull her off her horse but she got her leg free with a wrench and then kicked him in the face and he let out a grunt and fell. Now in front of her, the Hound had his massive sword out and he started laying into the small folk. Sansa sped her horse past, seeing the Hound's sword slash a man's face, hack off a woman's arm, and then slice the back open of another man. All three fell into the road in pools of blood with screams coming from them. She closed her mind to these terrible sights and rode. Sansa rode well, not as well as Robb or Jon or Arya but she had been trained to ride since she was a small girl. Soon she passed by the guards near the wheel house and rode in front where Jeyne was slowing down by Ser Robyn's horse.

"Damn, damn, and damn!" shouted Ser Robyn. He turned his horse and rode back. More gold cloaks here were keeping the crowds back and Slynt was standing in the road shouting to encourage his men, his sword drawn. In a moment Ser Robyn was back, the wheel house not far behind him.

"Slynt! You must stay with us through the far side of the camp!" he shouted at the City Watch commander.

"NO!" Slynt shouted back. "My men will be slaughtered!"

"Coward!" Ser Robyn shouted back. "The Princess needs to be protected!"

Slynt seemed to hesitate and Sansa couldn't believe he was going to abandon them. She looked at Jeyne and her friend was terrified and she knew she had to say something. "Lord Slynt!" Sansa yelled above the noise, her voice high and excited. "If any harm comes to the Princess you will pay with your head! You know Joffrey will do it!"

Slynt hesitated again and then started shouting orders to his men to stay with them. Gradually they moved through the camp. Behind them they left half their food supplies and two driverless wagons. Later Sansa learned that the two drivers of these wagons had died. A smart gold cloak captain had sent out almost two hundred men as reinforcements from the city when he saw what was happening from the walls. They saved many of their own men but some were dead and many wounded. Three of Ser Robyn's men were dragged off their horses and wounded so they stayed behind. All of Sansa's clothes she had brought from Winterfell had been lost as well. By now she was beyond caring about such things and just wanted to go home.

"Bloody idiots!" the Hound growled as he rejoined Sansa and Jeyne riding beside the wheel house. Sansa did not who he meant were idiots. Maybe all of them were as far as the Hound was concerned.

Sansa saw blood on his armor on his right arm. "Are you hurt?" she asked with concern.

The Hound looked at his arm where she was looking. "Not mine," he said. He looked at her sharply. "Little bird, the next time some fools come at you wanting to harm you, you ride as fast as you can the other way."

"I…I know I should have," she replied. "But…you didn't."

"A dog's job is to protect his masters," was all he said and then he lapsed into his brooding silence, his sword still out, his eyes scanning the crowd for danger.

Slynt and the now about four hundred gold cloaks led them through the rest of the wide camp of small folk and they were assaulted with plenty of shouts and curses along with pleas for help, but nobody else got through the cordon of gold cloaks and spears. They were soon past the camp and Slynt and his men stayed with them for one league on the Kingsroad before turning back to the city.

After the gold cloaks left, Princess Myrcella's party rode faster and did not stop for almost five leagues Sansa guessed. Then Ser Robyn ordered a halt in a field by a stream to take stock of all they had left. He soon realized he had lost three men and two wagon drivers and their loads after the Hound told the others what he had seen and what had happened to the lost men and wagons.

The lost food was going to be a problem and Ser Robyn immediately ordered them on reduced rations. There was some grumbling but no one complained too loudly. Then Princess Myrcella came out of her wheel house and Ser Robyn went to one knee and began to explain what had happened and what they must now do.

Sansa, Jeyne and the Hound stood nearby as Ser Robyn explained. Myrcella kept looking over at Sansa as Ser Robyn spoke. Finally, Ser Robyn finished. "I understand," said Myrcella, her voice a little shaky. "My mother said to follow your orders, Ser Robyn. You do what is best."

"Yes, My Princess," he said as he rose. He left to give orders to his men to make a midday meal. There was some salted fish and mutton left, a bit a bread, and some casks of ale, one bag of oats, two bags of pease, and some corn but not much else except a large sack of apples. They were almost sixty people and had to travel for at least a week or more to reach Harrenhal. Probably more, seeing how slow the wheel house moved.

A small table was set up outside the wheel house for the Princess and her handmaidens and she asked Sansa and Jeyne to join them. The two handmaidens were named Arlene and Nycollet. Both were about 15 years of age, Sansa guessed. Arlene had brown hair and Nycollet's was very black. They were pretty and friendly but also scared after what had happened.

"I heard you shouting at the commander," Myrcella told Sansa as they munched on some apples.

"Yes," Sansa replied, finding her face turning a bit red. "I did, didn't I? And he listened!"

They had a giggle over that but after the morning's events there was not much to laugh about.

"Why did they want to harm us?" Arlene asked.

"They are hungry," said Sansa.

"They should go back to their farms," Jeyne said next.

"They have no more farms," Sansa told them. "The Hou…Sandor Clegane, he said the war is bad in the Riverlands. The people ran away."

Myrcella spoke up. "My brother the King said the small folk outside the gates should all be killed."

They all stared at her and no one said a word. "But," Myrcella continued. "I think he is wrong."

Sansa smiled. "Yes, I think you are right. If the King begins to kill the small folk, they will not stand it for long."

They were silent for a few moments and it seemed like the other girls were waiting for Myrcella or Sansa to speak. They were high born of course, so deference was given them.

"I am glad to be going to Winterfell," the Princess said suddenly.

"So am I," said Jeyne and Sansa saw her face and Sansa knew she was very sad because her father was not coming home with her.

"Is it really cold?" Nycollet asked.

"Very," said Sansa. "With plenty of snow in winter."

"I should like that," said Arlene.

"No, you won't," Jeyne said with certainty. "Sansa and I have seen a northern winter when we were small girls. It was long and cold and there was too much snow."

"My father said that was a short winter," Sansa told them. She had been three years old and barely remembered it. Her mother was pregnant with Arya and she had been born as the snows ended and began to melt. That's the main thing Sansa remembered of her only winter, her baby sister coming into the world. Sansa had thought it was grand having a sister, a girl like her she could play with. But as they grew up, Sansa and Arya grew apart. Sansa wanted to read and sing and play music and talk about boys she liked. Arya wanted to ride a horse and fight with Jon and Bran or hang about the smithy and the kitchens and stables and she never talked about boys at all except the ones she wanted to punch in the face. There was nothing the two of them liked that was the same.

"I am sorry my brother doesn't want to marry you now," Princess Myrcella was saying and Sansa snapped back to the present from her memories.

Sansa knew she was talking about Joffrey and pretended to be sad. "It is good of you to say that, My Princess. My father is a traitor, so the King cannot marry me. It's not his fault. They made him do it." She knew she had to say it that way so Mrycella would not get upset. Some day in the future when the Princess was older and they had become better friends Sansa would tell her the real truth.

After eating Ser Robyn asked permission to resume their trip and the Princess said yes. They made more progress that day and gradually Sansa began to realize no one else was on the Kingsroad but them. The farms they passed were empty, the small towns and villages also empty.

"Where are all the people?" Jeyne asked as they rode.

"Hiding," said Sansa. "Or gone to King's Landing."

"Or dead," said the Hound in his dour way. Sansa thought he was just saying that to frighten them but as he spoke he pointed off the road and there was a body, so swollen and covered with flies Sansa could not tell if it was a man or a woman. A rotten foul stench filled the air and she almost gagged up her food. After that they encountered more bodies, some by the side of the road, some hung from trees, and some in the fields far off.

In one small town they stopped in the empty street where the Kingsroad passed through the town. Ser Robyn shouted for the people to come out but no one did. Finally he sent his men to search the houses for food but they found nothing but one old man too weak to leave, as he explained. He told them the folk had all left a week ago for the capital and had taken all the food they could carry. He begged Ser Robyn to take him with them or give him a quick death but they left him where they found him, and Sansa and Jeyne felt bad about that all day.

That night before they ate, they had set the horses to grazing after being hobbled. Supper was a weak soup of salted mutton and pease with hard bread, washed down with strong ale. The Hound cursed that they had lost the wine, saying ale was for children and old women, but he drank it just the same. Sansa found the taste strong but liked how it made her feel relaxed and ease some of her worries.

After they ate and cleaned up, Ser Robyn set guards and they prepared for bed. Sansa and Jeyne slept in one of the few tents that had survived the riots, while Myrcella and her maidens slept in the wheel house. The Hound and Ser Robyn and his men and the wagon drivers slept in or under the wagons or under their cloaks on the ground or under some trees.

Three days later the ale was gone, the mutton was too, and the apples as well, and all they had left was a half barrel of salted fish, some hard bread, a few ears of corn and some oats and pease. They searched almost every farm and house they came by and found no people and no food. Finally on the evening of the fourth day they came on an inn by a small stream. They saw smoke coming from its chimney and Ser Robyn and a few of his men went inside and soon came back out.

"They have rooms and a bit of food for sale," he told them. "And a bath house. We'll stay here for the night."

They were the only customers and when the innkeeper found out the Princess was with them he bent over backwards to make their stay comfortable, even more so when Ser Robyn handed him some silver and gold coins and asked for the best of everything he had. There was fresh bread and a good mutton stew with onions and carrots and for dessert a good apple pie. The rooms were mostly small but they were dry and clean. The Princess was given the biggest room, one with a feather mattress, not straw. The innkeeper sold them a small keg of ale and a small box of fresh vegetables but he could spare nothing else.

As they sat in the inn eating and relaxing, it began to rain outside and Sansa was glad they had found the inn. Sansa, Jeyne, the Hound, Ser Robyn and Myrcella's handmaidens all sat at one table while the other Lannister men sat around them. It was warm and noisy and the innkeeper and his family kept bustling around them to keep them fed and happy. Even the Hound seemed a bit happier as he drank some wine. At one point as the innkeeper passed their table Ser Robyn called Sansa 'Lady Stark' and the innkeeper stopped dead in his tracks.

"Lady Stark?" he said in surprise.

The Hound glared at him. "What of it?"

"Nothing, my lord, just…"

"I'm no lord," the Hound spat. "Out with it, man. Why do you know her name?"

The innkeeper spoke swiftly. "Lord Eddard Stark was here not a few weeks past."

"That's my father," Sansa blurted out. "How was he? How did he look?"

"Tired my lady, and he had a bad leg. But they only stayed a short while because the gold cloaks came looking for the bastard boy."

"Bastard boy?" Sansa asked in puzzlement. "Who was that?"

"I don't rightly know," the innkeeper replied. "The gold cloaks said they had orders from the King to take the boy back to the capital."

"The King is my brother," Myrcella spoke up. "Why would he want that boy for?"

The innkeeper bowed low to her. "I don't rightly know, my lady."

"Best you tell us what you do know," Ser Robyn commanded him.

The innkeeper told the story and when he was done they had much to think on. Gold cloaks were looking for a bastard boy. Her father and Yoren had chased them off, then the gold cloaks returned a day later with a large party of Lannister men and kept on going on up north. And after that, the innkeeper said, about five days later four of the gold cloaks came back, got drunk, and were cursing about what had happened to them. About the Imp and a battle at a holdfast and two of their men dead and the bastard still got away. But the Imp had Ned Stark, they said and was taking him to Harrenhal to treat with Tywin Lannister to end the war.

"Is it true?" the innkeeper asked. "Is the war over?"

"Not yet," said Ser Robyn, casting a look towards Sansa. "Soon, gods be good."

"The gods are not good," the Hound growled. "Robb Stark may go home but Renly and Stannis aren't going anywhere." After he said that Sansa had a feeling they had gotten out of King's Landing just in time. That night after they had baths she and Jeyne settled down in one room and talked about what the innkeeper had said. Sansa knew Arya was with her father and the Night's Watch group. Had Arya been in a battle? Had she been hurt? Her father? They had no answers and Sansa grew more worried.

The next day it kept raining but Ser Robyn insisted they keep going. Before long they came across a poor stretch of the Kingsroad, all narrow and passing through forest. The wheel house and one of the wagons got stuck a few times in the road as it turned to mud and they barely made any progress. The day after that the rains had stopped but they were all wet and cold and the road was mud and again they moved slowly. Sansa heard Ser Robyn curse more than once about the wheel house. The Hound laughed and Sansa could see he was drunk on his horse. He had two skins of wine with him he had bought off the innkeeper, and one he had already finished off the day before. Now he was working on the second one as he sat on his big horse.

"Fuck the wheel house," he roared after the wheel house got stuck again. "Burn the fucking thing to its axles."

"That is for the Princess to decide," Ser Robyn said strongly. "Not you!" His men got off their horses and started to push it again and they started cursing as they sank into the mud of the road.

"You heard the Princess, ser, she'll do whatever you ask," the Hound said loudly. "You say burn it, she'll let you. Gods, that is good wine."

He took another drink and Sansa glared at him from her horse. "Why don't you help them?"

"I'm a dog, not an ox," the Hound growled at her and then took yet another drink.

"A dog who is drunk is not much good," Sansa shot back.

The wine skin was going to his mouth and he paused, pulled it down and stared at her. "Little bird, you cannot save me from my demons. They are right here on my face for all the world to see and they are not going away. Let a man have a drink while he can." Then he drank deeply and Sansa got so mad she got off her horse and went to help them push the stuck wheel house. Jeyne laughed and got off her horse as well and then the Hound cursed and soon he was yelling at the two girls to get out of the way. He stumbled in the mud to the back of the wheel house and he put his big shoulders to it with the other men. His strength was tremendous and soon it was unstuck and they were on their way again.

The Hound's wine was soon gone and hours later he looked terrible and said nothing as they rode. They came up over a hill and in the far distance they could see Gods Eye, shimmering in the setting sun. Two days later, they were far up the Kingsroad on the eastern side of Gods Eye, which was to their far left over rolling hills, farmland, and stretches of forest. Their meals were getting more meager and soon they were down to just a bit of salted fish and a small piece of hard bread for the two meals they had each day. The men started talking about slaughtering the horses pulling the wheel house and burning it like the Hound had suggested. The land was burnt everywhere, the people gone, those that had gotten away that is, and they were alone in a vast stretch of land and sky.

Except for the wolves. The closer they got to the Riverlands, the more they heard wolves at night. They heard their growling and howling and one night Sansa swore she saw eyes looking back from the forest when she went to make water. Then one day they saw the wolves, ahead in a small valley crossing a small stream. They were a large pack, at least twenty wolves, and leading them was the biggest wolf anyone in the group had ever seen.

"It's a direwolf," Sansa said as she sat on her horse with the Hound and Jeyne nearby, all of them watching the wolves move off into the forest across the stream before they moved again.

One of the nearby Lannister men scoffed. "Direwolves only live north of the Wall."

"No, they don't, fool," said the Hound. "The girl had one for a pet."

"A pet?" the man said in surprise.

"Yes," Sansa said. "Her name was Lady and my father killed it because Arya's direwolf Nymeria bit Joffrey. But they couldn't find Nymeria so they killed my direwolf. "As she said it her voice turned bitter and hard and she looked at the Hound. "Then you killed Arya's friend."

"He struck the Prince," said the Hound with a shrug. "They told me to kill him so I killed him."

Sansa shook her head. "He didn't hit Joffrey. I…I didn't tell the truth of what happened. Arya and the butcher's boy were playing at sword fighting. Joffrey was drinking. He was…he was cruel. He cut the boy and Arya attacked Joffrey. Then she fell and I thought he was going to kill her he was so mad. Then Nymeria bit Joffrey's arm. He lay their crying like a little boy."

The Hound snorted. "It matters not now. The butcher's boy is dead. Your direwolf is dead, your sister's is gone. Your sister must hate me. You must hate me."

"I hate all of you," Sansa said softly as they started riding again. "The Lannisters killed my father's people."

"They killed my father," said Jeyne with a sniff. "And Jory Cassel and Hullen and Septa Mordane…all of them."

The Hound said nothing but Sansa saw this intense look in his eyes like he was angry at someone and then he rode his horse ahead of them and for the rest of the day would not ride with them or say anything to them. Sansa now got mad at him, for he had no reason to be mad at them for telling the truth.

About eleven days after they left King's Landing they finally came to the road that branched west towards Harrenhal. They turned west and rode for another hour as the sun dipped lower in the western sky. As they were about to pull off the road for the night a rider Ser Robyn had sent ahead came back, riding hard.

"A large group of men coming down the road, ser," he said to his leader. "Funny looking bunch, riding horses and striped animals, a goat for their banner."

Ser Robyn cursed. "Vargo Hoat," he said. "It's a free company in the pay of Lord Tywin. Ruthless cutthroats. Say nothing of the Princess or Lady Stark," he commanded his men.

"Best you two get in the wheel house," the Hound told Sansa and Jeyne. It was the first time he had spoken to them in two days. They were confused but listened to him, and got off their horses and soon climbed into the wheel house.

It was cozy inside, with a small table built into a wall, with two benches nailed to the floor. A large bunk for the Princess was in the rear and on the sides up high were two more narrow bunks for her handmaidens. It was also a bit crowded, with several chests and crates containing the girls' clothing they were taking to Winterfell. There were also some dolls and books on a shelf. There were a few small windows with small shutters now opened and in the front was a small opening where the occupants could look ahead and speak to the driver leading the horses.

"What is happening?" Myrcella asked.

"I don't know," said Sansa.

"Riders are coming," Jeyne said. "The Hound told us to come in here."

Sansa moved to the front opening and the other girls crowded behind her. Sansa could now see ahead of them a large group of men on horses and the funny looking animals she knew were called zorses. She had never seen one before but knew they came from the east. In front was a tall, thin man on a zorse. It was hard to see well because Ser Robyn's men had crowded in front of the wheel house. She strained to hear them talking.

"Greetings, Lord Hoat," Ser Robyn said. "I am Ser Robyn Serrett, sworn bannerman to House Lannister. We are on our way to Harrenhal. How fair things?"

"Thingth fair not well, Ther Robyn," said Lord Hoat in a funny voice. "Peathe ith coming."

"I should think that would be a time to rejoice," Ser Robyn told him.

"Not for men like uth" said Hoat. "Tywin Lannithter has no more need of our therviceth. He hath paid uth off and athk uth to leave the Theven Kingdomth. I know war ith coming in the thouth. But he hath no more need of hith goat."

"I am sure he paid you well," said Ser Robyn. "You could consider it good luck to receive your pay without suffering too many losses."

"Maybe," said Hoat. "But there are a few headth I wanted to collect before I left. Dondarrion for one. Ned Thtark for another."

"Stark?" Ser Robyn said in surprise as Sansa got a fright. Why did this man want her father dead? "Lord Tywin will never let you touch Stark."

"I think that ith why he wantth me gone. But he paid me enough. Maybe I can forget Thtark. There ith war coming in the eatht and there ith alwayth a need for thwordth." He was looking at the wheel house now. "What buthineth have you in Harrenhal, Ther Robyn?"

"The King's business," the Hound growled from where he was sitting on his massive warhorse next to Ser Robyn. "Not yours, Goat."

"Oh, the dog barkth," said Vargo Hoat with a chuckle. "I know of you, Clegane. I know your brother, too. He ith at Harrenhal."

"That's good to hear," said the Hound in so low a voice Sansa could barely hear him. "My brother and I have much to discuss."

"Well, we have had a long day," said Ser Robyn to Hoat. "We are about to make camp. You are welcome to join us but we have little food and none to spare."

"We will continue to ride for a while yet. We have a long road to ride to Maidenpoole and a thhip to home," said Hoat. "But we have plenty of food." He turned to his men and gave orders to give some of their food to Ser Robyn's people. They grumbled but soon a wagon pulled up front and they unloaded several casks and one keg, and a few wooden boxes.

"What's happening?" someone behind Sansa asked.

"They are giving us some food," she said and felt her stomach rumble. "Now they are leaving."

Soon the strange men were riding past the wheelhouse. More then one looked through the open windows inside. They were an odd bunch Sansa thought, men with forked colored beards, dark skin men with bells in their hair, one that looked like a fool in motley, others that had hard faces who gave them ugly and leering looks.

That night they ate well for the first time in many days. They had been given some salted pork, and a keg of ale, plus some fresh vegetables and hard bread. They made a big stew and all ate well.

As night fell Sansa and Jeyne helped a Lannister man set up their tent. "Who were those strange men?" Jeyne asked him.

"Vargo Hoat and his free riders," he said. "A viscous bunch of sellswords if what I heard about them is true. All those dead people and burnt out farms we passed were mostly the work of Hoat and others like him."

"They should be arrested and hanged!" Jeyne exclaimed.

The man shook his head. "Not a crime in time of war, little one. There, your tent is ready, my ladies. Sleep well."

They lay there on their blankets on the ground and talked a bit and both were glad they had full bellies and would soon be at Harrenhal. Soon they drifted off to sleep. An hour later Sansa had to get up to make water, having drunk too much ale at dinner. The moon had risen and the sky was clear and she easily found her way to a small patch of woods near the camp. As she walked there she passed the Hound sleeping against a tree trunk near where the Princess' wheel house was parked.

Sansa entered the woods and after she finished making water she was lacing up her leather breeches when she heard the growl.

She froze and then slowly turned and there were the eyes she thought she had seen a few nights ago. They were large and yellow and were looking at her intently. Then the direwolf padded out of the trees and came right up to her. Sansa was trembling but then remembered she was a Stark of Winterfell and the direwolf was her sigil. She had a direwolf as a pet and so had her sister and brothers and now she was facing another one. No, wait. No another one. In the moonlight she saw the markings of her sister's direwolf. It was Nymeria.

"Nymeria?" she said as she held out her hand and the beast licked her palm. Sansa almost cried in relief and smiled and hugged the direwolf. She was so much bigger than when Sansa had last seen her but then she remembered that was many months ago and much had happened between then and now.

Sansa missed Lady, more than she had let anyone know. She had blamed Arya for the trouble at the river, and her father for killing Lady, and Joffrey for lying about what had happened, and King Robert for ordering Lady be killed. Sansa never told anyone, but sometimes, when she was sleeping, she used to dream of Lady. She would be running with her and chasing a rabbit in the woods or playing with her brother and sister wolves at Winterfell. Then after Lady died she had no more direwolf dreams.

"Does Arya dream of you?" she asked Nymeria. The direwolf made a whimpering sound and panted and almost seemed to smile at Sansa. No, that's crazy. Direwolves don't smile. She looked deep in the direwolf's eyes and then, for a brief second, the eyes had seemed to turn a grey color. The color of Arya's eyes.

Sansa felt a chill run up her spine. "Arya?" she asked, half in disbelief and then a rough hand clamped over her mouth and someone grabbed her from behind.

"I got her!" said a voice in a harsh accent and then a split second later the same man screamed. He screamed so loud Sansa thought her ear drums would burst. He let go and Sansa spun around and Nymeria was growling and she had the man by the crotch of his breeches and she was biting deep and blood was foaming and he screamed again.

Sansa screamed as well and then more screams came from the direction of the camp and the camp came to life. All over she heard shouts and yells and then the Hound's shouts and curses. Nymeria shook her head back and forth as she bit deep and the man on the ground screamed. "Kill it! Kill it!"

Sansa yelled. "SANDOR! I'M HERE!"

She backed away from the man but then another one was there, with a long knife in his hands. "Gods, what is that?" he said in shock as he saw Nymeria. He went to stab Nymeria but Sansa knocked his hand away.

"Don't hurt her!" she yelled.

"Bitch!" he yelled back as he slapped her hard. Then she was down and the man was on top of her.

"We was just going to kidnap you for the ransom," he said with a growl. "But now I got a mind to shove my dick inside your little cunt first! After I kill your pet dog!"

But then the man was off of her and he screamed as Nymeria buried her jaws into his right arm and he dropped the knife.

"SANSA!" came a yell and someone was crashing through the woods, the Hound for sure, and Sansa yelled for him again and then she looked at the first man. He was lying there bleeding from the groin and moaning in whimpers she barely heard as the second man was screaming. "Get it off, get it off!" He pounded on Nymeria's side with his free hand. Then there was a crunching sound of bones breaking and Nymeria gave a mighty wrench of her jaws and his arm came off at the elbow and the man screamed even louder.

"Seven hells!" the Hound shouted as he reached them. In two quick strokes of his sword the two men died and then the Hound turned to Nymeria with his sword raised. Nymeria let out a vicious growl and leaped at the Hound and was so big and fast she knocked him off his feet. The Hound was down and his sword was out of his hand. Nymeria was on his chest, heavy and growling and her jaws snapped at his throat and just missed.

"ARYA!" Sansa screamed. "STOP!"

The direwolf growled but did not attack again. Sansa put her arms around its neck and she felt the power and coiled intensity of the beast. "Arya, sister, let him live. He is helping me. I need him to help us...please don't kill him. Please."

The Hound lay their, struggling to get up, cursing, but his chain mail armor, the weight of the direwolf, and his awkward position as he tried to protect his throat made it too much even for his strength to push the beast off of his chest.

Then Nymeria rose and leaped off him and in a flash was off through the woods. Then someone from the camp shouted. "The Princess!"

"Gods!" the Hound yelled and then he was up, looking for his sword, soon had it and then they both ran back to the camp.

They found many lit torches and lanterns by the wheel house. Princess Myrcella was standing there behind Ser Robyn crying her eyes out as her two handmaidens and Jeyne held her tight. On the ground lay two Lannister men, dead, their throats cut. A third was moaning with a wound in the left thigh as his companions helped him. Another body was there, face down, with stab wounds in his back. Sansa knew he must be one of the attackers for he did not wear Lannister garb or colors. And there was another man, a fat man in leather and with brown skin and dark hair with bells in a braid. A whip and a curved weapon of some sort lay on the ground beside him. He was bleeding from one shoulder and several Lannister men had their swords on him.

"Who sent you?" Ser Robyn was screaming at him.

"Fuck you, Lannister," said the man in a harsh accent and for that he got a smash across the face.

"Kill him," said Ser Robyn and with that the man's throat was slit and he flopped to the ground and was soon dead.

"What happened to you, Clegane?" Ser Robyn said next, looking at the Hound in fury. "You are the Princess' shield, are you not? The Princess was attacked and if my men hadn't been nearby she might be dead or kidnapped by now."

"I heard Lady Stark scream," he said, breathing hard. "I killed two men who tried to attack her."

"Where?" Ser Robyn said, his anger now gone, and soon after they told them where, his men went to find the bodies. When they came back with the bodies and laid them out on the ground they could easily see in the torch light the wounds Nymeria had caused. One Lannister man laughed at the Hound. "Did you try to bite off this one's manhood dog?" The Hound smashed him so hard across the mouth the man lost three teeth and was unconscious for an hour. Other Lannister men shouted curses and went to attack the Hound but Sansa screamed.

"STOP IT!" They all looked at her. "Are you all fools? He did not do this. It was…it was…a wolf." They were silent and then Sansa spoke and gradually they pieced the story together. Four men had crept into the camp. Two had seen Sansa go off in the woods and had followed her there. The other two made their way to the wheel house in hopes of finding someone worth taking there. They killed two of the guards but a third came along and fought them and the camp awoke. Sansa told them how the man had said they were going to kidnap the girls to get some ransom.

"The Goat," the Hound said through gritted teeth. "His men saw you in the wheel house windows."

"Yes," Sansa said, now wishing they had had the sense to have closed the shutters.

"They knew you must be important to ride in that damn wheel house and to have so many guards," said Ser Robyn next. "They wanted more of Lord Tywin's coin."

Many Lannister men said they should ride and kill the Goat and his men but Ser Robyn stopped that talk quick enough.

"He has two hundred men and we have less than fifty," he said. "You want to die uselessly? No, we will tell Lord Tywin what happened here. He will make sure the Goat pays. Even if he did not know what his men planned to do, Lord Tywin will see them all hanged. They will never get on that ship at Maidenpoole. Come, let us take care of our dead."

After that they set to work cleaning up. They dragged Hoat's men's bodies off to the forest, for the wolves when they return, joked one man. They helped the man with the wounded leg as best they could and placed him in back of a wagon. Then they dug two shallow graves for their two men. Sansa stayed for a long time with Myrcella and the other girls in the wheel house and they all cried a bit and told their stories. They asked Sansa about the wolf and she said it just came out of nowhere and attacked the men and then the Hound had killed them both. She said nothing about Nymeria.

A long time later the other girls finally fell asleep, Myrcella was too scared to sleep alone and Jeyne promised to stay with her and curled up in the big bunk with the Princess. There was no room for Sansa so she left the wheel house and outside it were four Lannister men on guard duty and more a short distance away. She walked back to her tent and the Hound was sitting there on the ground with a large mug of ale.

"Sit, little bird," he commanded. She dropped to the ground beside him. He handed her the mug and without even thinking about it she drank deeply and handed it back to him.

"You are getting a taste for drinking ale."

She knew it was true. "I suppose so."

"How old are you?" he asked.

"I'll be thirteen soon."

"Gods, you are a child."

"Yes."

They were silent for a long few moments and he drank and then passed her the mug again and she drank again and then passed it back to him.

"What happened in the woods, little bird?" he finally asked.

"You saved my life."

"A direwolf saved your life. I just finished them off for it."

"I guess so," she replied.

"You called that direwolf 'Arya'. Arya is your sister."

"Yes."

"Why?"

She sighed. "You'll never believe me."

"Try to explain it."

"I don't know how to explain it. But that was Nymeria, Arya's direwolf."

"The one that ran off after it bit Joffrey?"

"Yes."

"So why did you call it Arya?"

"Because…I thought…I thought it was Arya. It had her eyes, I mean, for a brief moment, in the moonlight, I thought…I thought it was my sister. Inside the direwolf. Oh, I don't know how to explain it."

He grunted. "I do. Warg, some call them that can do it. Shapeshifter, others say. Skin changer also."

Sansa had once heard Old Nan tell a story like that, that some of the wild people north of the Wall were wargs. "Tell me more."

He snorted. "I don't know anymore. Just stories, about people who could become animals. Or people who were very close to the animals could enter them to become part of them for a short time." Sansa felt her spine tingle. Was that what she had been dreaming about with Lady? Was she inside Lady, not running beside her? "That's all I know," he said. "A story I heard when I was a boy."

Sansa could never imagine him as a boy. But then she remembered what he told her about his brother, about his scars, and how he got them.

"We will be at Harrenhal tomorrow or the next day. I will ask Arya about it."

"Yes," he said and then he drank the rest of his ale. "And while you are at it ask her why she wants to kill me."

"You know why," Sansa said without any emotion.

"I suppose I do," he replied as he stood. She stood next to him. "Right. Off to bed with you, little bird. Not to worry about bad men in the dark. This dog will sleep at your door tonight."

"Thank you but…the Princess?"

He grunted and looked over at the wheel house and its four guards and the others nearby and they could also see Ser Robyn pacing nearby. "You think any man in this camp will sleep tonight after what has happened?"

"No, I guess not." He stood there, by her tent flap and held it open for her.

She stooped to enter and then she stopped and looked at him, took a deep breath and said what she wanted to say. "Your brother is at Harrenhal, isn't he?"

"I've heard," he said after a moment.

"Are you…?"

"Yes," he said swiftly. "Either he will die or I will. It cannot be avoided."

Sansa stared at him in the gloom. "It can be if you forgive him."

She thought he would laughed at her but he didn't. He spoke in a softer voice than she had ever heard him use before. "I had a sister once," he said. "And a father. I think Gregor killed them both."

She was too shocked to speak. "It can't be true," she finally said.

"It is," he answered. "He is a monster. And I am the only one who can kill him. Then maybe my demons will be at rest at last. Then I can die in peace."

"I saw you fight him at the tournament in King's Landing when you saved Ser Loras. He is too big, too strong. You can't win. Please don't fight him," she said and did not know why she said it but said it just the same.

He grunted. "It will happen again some day and no one but the gods can stop it. This time King Robert won't be there to stop us, that's for certain. No one will stop us until one is dead. Now go to bed, little bird. Have sweet dreams, if you can. This dog will protect you."

Sansa said no more and entered her tent and then lay down on her blankets and for a long time lay there and could not sleep. She saw the shadow of the big man on the tent wall and he stood there and did not move and then after a while she did sleep, and when she awoke in the morning, and the sun came through the tent, she saw the shadow still there, still as a statue, standing there, protecting her, as he said he would. And Sansa Stark smiled and strangely felt good knowing there was one man in the world she could trust to do as he said. But then with a chill she thought of his promise to fight his brother, and with a certainty she knew he would die. And strangely, that made her feel sad.


	15. Chapter 15 Arya

**Ned Stark Lives! Chapter 15 – Arya**

The second direwolf dream came four days after Arya's father had left Harrenhal to go to Riverrun. She woke up in the darkness in a cold sweat in her room in the massive castle, shaking and gasping for breath. She almost called for her father who had been sharing the room with her but then Arya suddenly remembered he was gone. Then she thought of Gendry who had been with her the last time she had the dream that she thought wasn't a dream. That time she had been scared, scared because she thought she had killed a man and had eaten his flesh with her pack mates. Gendry had held her tight and she had felt comfort in his strength, and he had listened to her and she thought he had believed her. Then he told her he was King Robert's son and that was so amazingly unbelievable that she had forgotten all about the direwolf dream for a while.

The next day she pestered Gendry about his father, but he knew nothing, had only found out himself a few days ago when her father had told him the truth, and they couldn't talk much about it with the others around anyway. Her father soon knew Gendry had told her and Hot Pie his secret, and didn't say much about it except for her and Hot Pie to not say anything to anyone about it. Two days after that they had arrived at Harrenhal.

Arya had never seen anything so big in all of her life. The tales she had heard enough, but seeing Harren the Black's castle was truly awe inspiring. And shocking. The towers were bent and seemed about to fall down. The stone was drooping in many spots like wax on a candle, and Arya knew it had been melted by the dragon breath of Aegon and his sister's fearsome creatures.

"Here is where it all began," her father said. "The Targaryen rule. It did not end until Robert killed Rhaegar and the Kingslayer killed the Mad King."

"And the children," Arya said. "Someone killed Rhaegar's children."

Her father nodded slightly. "Aye," he answered in a strangely quiet voice.

"The Imp said Rhaegar's brother and sister are still alive," Gendry said next.

"Where are they?" Hot Pie had asked and her father had told them Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen were far away across the Narrow Sea. Later at Harrenhal they heard people say that Viserys Targaryen was dead, killed by some horse lord. She asked her father if it was true and he told her it was, that the Imp had mentioned it to him after they had first gotten to Harrenhal. No one knew where Daenerys Targaryen was now, though.

When they had first arrived the Imp went off to see his father while Arya's father saw the maester, who looked over his leg as Arya hovered nearby. After a short examination the maester said the leg was healing well, and her father should have no pronounced limp.

"Can I ride a horse?" he had asked the maester.

"I wouldn't if I were you, my lord," the maester advised. "Not yet, at least. A man needs his legs to help sit a saddle and guide the horse. But if you must, do it only for a short time."

After that they were led to the baths, her father through one door, and her through another. Arya tried to find Hot Pie and Gendry but couldn't see them anywhere. After her bath the woman in charge thrust some clean small clothes and a dress at her and Arya started to protest that her own clothes were good enough and the woman had laughed and said that they had already taken her filthy rags to get washed and they wouldn't be clean and dry till next day. Arya wanted to hit her but knew she shouldn't. She put on the small clothes the woman had brought her and the dress and everything was too big. She took her belt and tied it tight around her waist and put on her muddy shoes and then stuck needle in her belt. As she was coming out of the bath house she saw Hot Pie and Gendry coming out another door in the bath house, both naked and wet, and holding their dirty clothes in their arms in front of them.

Gendry and Hot Pie took one look at Arya in her dress and she took one look at them and all three started laughing.

"Gods, you look like a proper girl now," said Gendry as he laughed again.

She scowled at him. "I do not!"

"Yes, you do," said Hot Pie. Then her father came out behind the two boys, cleaned and dressed in some new clothes and he smiled when he saw his daughter.

"That's better," he said.

"I hate it," she shot back. "But they took my other clothes and washed them."

"Where?" asked Gendry. "Ours need to get a good scrubbing as well."

Her father stopped a women walking by and she went off to find them something to wear while their clothes were washed. As they stood there waiting and talking, Arya saw all the Lannister men everywhere in the castle. She saw some of the Imp's men and Bronn and the wild men, but there were lots of other men, all soldiers, and a few small folk, rushing off to do as the soldiers asked.

"Lady Whent's people," her father said as they stood there looking. "Forced to serve the Lannisters." His face got a grim look after he said that and she knew when he looked that way he didn't like something. Soon the woman came back and thrust some clean clothes at Hot Pie and Gendry and took theirs and they quickly dressed in their new clothes, not even caring to cover up. It's not like Arya had not seen naked boys before. She had four brothers so seeing a naked boy was nothing new to her. She had seen Bran and Rickon naked enough when they were babies. And on the road north more than one man in their party had pulled his manhood out to have a piss or had dropped his breeches by the side of the road.

Hot Pie was all soft and flabby and almost had teats like a woman. As many pies went in his mouth as went in the ovens, Arya thought with a laugh. And he had said she was lucky she grew up in a castle so she could eat every day! She didn't think Hot Pie had missed too many meals either. Gendry, on the other hand, was all lean and muscle, especially his arms and shoulders and back. That came from being a smith, she knew, and then she thought of Gendry's father who had also been big. He was tall as well, but he was fat, not like Gendry. She had heard stories of King Robert, from her father and others, and they had all said he was the strongest man in the kingdoms when he was younger and fitter. Maybe it was true. He had killed Rhaegar with his war hammer, hadn't he? You had to be strong to do that.

The Imp approached them then to tell them where their quarters were and that they would be eating with his father later on.

"And the boys?" Arya's father asked.

"Ah, yes," the Imp had said. "The kitchens and the armory I think are the best places for them. Those in charge will look after food and a place for them to sleep. The kitchens are…wait... I think…no, I am not sure."

"I've been here before," her father said. "We'll find it." Then the Imp said he was for the baths and they left him.

It took them a few minutes to find the kitchens and then her father had a word with the old woman in charge. She took one look at Hot Pie, narrowed her eyes and started asking him questions about baking and making bread and all that and he answered her well enough and she took him on, saying she needed the help with so many here now. After that they found the armory, and the same thing happened with the man in charge. His name was Lucan and he was old but had the big arms and shoulders of a smith. He took Gendry on and promised him to look after him while he was here and her father gave his thanks. As they were about to leave, Arya handed Needle to Gendry and asked him to fix the nick in the blade's tip and he promised to try. When she got it back later it was as good as new.

That had been many days ago now. Her father had gone to Riverrun, and Arya was alone in their room in the tower below Lady Whent's solar. She sat in her bed for a long time and thought on her dream. She was Nymeria again and this time she knew it was true, that she was inside her pet direwolf. She was padding through a forest, alone, her pack far behind, and she had seen the camp. The people had some fires and she was afraid of fire. They had horses too and Arya could smell them and knew they would be good to eat. She waited for the men to sleep and the fires to die down. Then as she was about to go into the camp, she saw someone come from a tent and walk towards where she was. She lay low on her belly and waited and saw it was a girl, a tall girl, and then…then she knew it was Sansa. Her sister looked straight at her and Arya got a strong shock of recognition and then Arya's mind fled from Nymeria and she awoke, sweating in the darkness.

"Sansa," she said as she caught her breath. "Sansa is coming to Harrenhal."

She wanted to leap from her bed and find Gendry and tell him but it was dark outside the small window in her room and she knew a guard would be outside her door. She was a prisoner, she knew, despite Tywin Lannister's attempts to make her feel comfortable. She had been given her clothes back, cleaner but still a bit ragged and when he saw her dressed in them he ordered someone to find her better clothing, but of the type she wanted to wear, breeches and shirts and jerkins, not dresses. Soon she had two pairs of woolen breeches and a few linen shirts and better shoes and a leather jerkin. They were a bit big, but not too bad. He even let her carry Needle with her around the castle and his men knew not to bother her about anything. Her father said they had to make like they were not important, but within a day it seemed that the whole Lannister army and all of Lady Whent's people knew that Lord Stark and his daughter were in the castle.

The second day as her father visited the maester again, a Lannister man had followed her around when she went to find Hot Pie and Gendry. Later when she and her father and the Imp ate with Lord Tywin she complained about this. She promised Lord Tywin she would not try to escape and he had almost smiled again and said she had no need to escape now that the war was almost over. After that no one followed her. Arya hadn't wandered too much over the massive castle. Mostly she had spent time in her room or at the armory where Gendry worked, or at the kitchens trying to steal a tart when Hot Pie wasn't looking. And of course she had spent time with her father.

They ate a few more times with Tywin Lannister and his son the Imp, but Arya was always sent away and the men stayed to discuss the peace they were trying to bring. She knew her father and Lord Tywin did not like each other and she knew why as well. After three days they finally reached an agreement and her father prepared to leave. The next morning after breakfast he had ridden out the main gates with the Imp and Bronn, and the tall Lannister man on his horse and many other cavalry men.

Before he climbed on his horse her father stood in the courtyard and talked with her. "I'll be seeing your mother soon and Robb. Once Sansa is here we'll all go home."

"That will be good."

He smiled. "If you have any problems with anything or anyone you tell Lord Tywin and he'll make sure it's taken care of. But mind yourself, and stay good and I'll see you in a week or so." She promised to be good and he bent down and hugged her tight and then he was on his horse and gone again.

The Imp had been watching them with a strange, sad look on his face and only when they had gone had Arya thought on the fact that Lord Tywin had not come to say good-bye or good luck or anything to his son.

Arya sat in her bed in the darkness for a while more, thinking on her dream, and then got up and saw that the embers in the small hearth still glowed a bit from the fire she had there the night before. She groped in the darkness and found a candle by her bed and went over and lit it on a hot ember. Then she drank some water from a clay jug, used the chamber pot, took off her the linen shift she had worn to bed, and then got dressed in her boy's clothes. She took out Needle and began to practice in the space between the two beds.

For more than an hour she silently re-did all of the lessons Syrio had taught her, and for a while she was a water dancer, and nothing else mattered in the world except her sword and the enemies she imagined in front of her. They were all gold cloaks and Lannister men. Then the memories of the battle for the holdfast came back, and Gendry was picking her up and jumping and they were falling and a gold cloak was about to kill him but she stabbed him first. They killed others, her and Gendry, and then they were with Hot Pie and Lommy, running into the barn, and her father was gone, Yoren was dead, and then Jaqen H'ghar was leading them along the lake shore.

Arya hadn't trusted him at first. He kept moving them away from the holdfast, and she had wanted to go back and find her father but he said no, not yet, not till his hands were free and he had a careful look at the situation. He talked in his funny way, like Syrio had a bit, and she wondered if all the people of the Free Cities talked in such ways. They walked all night and were soon exhausted. Before dawn they had come across a small stand of trees just above the shoreline and had crawled in there to sleep for a while.

Later that day they found the empty village where Lommy later died and Jaqen left them to go find her father as soon as Gendry had knocked the manacles off his hands and feet. As soon as he was gone Lommy said they should leave there. Maybe he had had a bad feeling about the place, Arya thought later, like he knew he was going to die. But that was silly, she also thought. Nobody knew when they were going to die. Hot Pie was also whining about leaving and finding more food, and Gendry also seemed like he was ready to bolt before the Lannister men and gold cloaks came looking for him again. She had almost agreed, seeing the look on his face and knowing that he was in real danger. But at the last second she knew she had to wait for Jaqen and her father so she had ordered them to stay put. Strangely enough they had listened to her. Or maybe they had stayed just because it started raining outside and no one wanted to get wet. And then her father and Jaqen came back and all was well. But then Lommy had died and she thought they were going to die as well but it all turned out well. Except for Lommy.

Now she was here, a prisoner of the people she had been running from. But this was different, she knew. Her father was here and that made all the difference in the world. He was going to find a way to end this nightmare, to bring her family together and take them all home safe and sound. That's what a father should do.

After a while Arya put Needle away and practiced standing on one leg for a while. She did it on each leg and tried to remain as still as water. After a while she blew out the candle and let her eyes adjust to the dark again. She opened her ears and listened. She heard the guard outside her door shift his weight from one foot to the other. She thought she heard a scurrying sound behind the fireplace. Rats, she knew. On their way to Harrenhal one day she and Hot Pie and Gendry had ridden beside Podrick Payne for a while and he had told them how he and Bronn had opened the gates of Harrenhal. She didn't believe him at first but Bronn was nearby and he told them it was true and that he'd never get the stench out of his nostrils. The sound behind the fireplace reminded her of the size of the rats Pod had said they had seen. Massive, he had said. Harrenhal rats for sure. She sat on the floor in front of the fireplace for a while, with Needle in her hand, ready to stab any rat that tried to invade her room. But none came out.

After a few more minutes she heard a rooster crowing the dawn from the castle hen house. Then the castle began to awake. Voices outside began to shout, horses made noises, and people started working. Someone was chopping wood, and she distinctly heard the sound of someone beating metal somewhere.

She opened her door and startled the guard who was half asleep and leaning on the door.

"Morning," she said to him.

"Morning, my lady," he replied while trying to stifle a yawn. "Bit early. Breakfast still cooking."

"I'll eat later," she said and then she left without another word. She had to be polite, she knew, but she didn't have to like these people or say more than she needed to. Ones just like them had killed Jory and Hullen and Septa Mordane and everyone else in King's Landing. And they had tried to kill her and Hot Pie and Gendry. Vargo Hoat worked for Tywin Lannister and his men had killed Lommy and they wanted to kill her father. No, Arya had no reason to be anything but barely civil to any of them.

She made her way out of the tower and was soon at the armory. The head smith, the old man named Lucan, was there beating on a horse shoe.

"Morning. Is Gendry awake?" she asked and he grinned at her. She had been there every morning since her father had left.

"Just getting up," he replied as he placed the horse shoe back in the hot coals of the forge. "You two can fetch breakfast from the kitchens if you don't mind."

"Sure," she said. She didn't mind. She liked the kitchens. Arya went to the little set of stairs that led to the loft above the armory where the smith and his workers and apprentices slept. She knew Gendry slept on the far left end. She found many people stirring. Gendry was there, already dressed, sitting on the side of his thin mattress putting on his shoes. She noticed he looked different.

"You shaved your beard," Arya said as a way of greeting.

He looked at her and shrugged. "Was itching too much. And it also caught fire yesterday when I bent too close to the forge."

Arya laughed a bit. "Lucan asked us to get the breakfast. Come on."

Gendry collected a small wheel barrow they used to carry their breakfast and other things and they were soon heading to the kitchens. As they walked she decided to tell him. "I had a dream again last night."

"So did I," he said as he yawned while pushing the wheel barrow. "I was beating all the barbs on the Iron Throne flat with my hammer. That's funny cause I never even seen it."

"I have," she told him. "It has lots of barbs. Look, what I…"

But he kept on talking about his stupid dream. "Funny how they never called a smith to just pound them all flat or cut them off, you know? I mean, I heard it's made of hundreds of old swords. Some of them kings cut themselves on that chair. That's just stupid."

She grabbed his arm. "Listen to me!"

"What?" he asked in surprise, seeming to come fully awake as he set down the wheel barrow.

"I had a direwolf dream again."

"Oh? So…what happened this time?"

"I saw my sister, Sansa."

"What? Are you sure?" He sounded like he didn't believe her and that always made Arya mad.

"Yes, I'm sure! It was her, in a camp with many people by the woods by the Kingsroad. I…I was in Nymeria again…and I wanted to eat their horses…but she came to the woods, I saw her. Then it ended. I mean, I left Nymeria. I think. What does it mean?"

He shrugged his huge shoulders. "No idea. But…you saw her, in a camp, by the Kingsroad?"

"Yes."

"Maybe she's on her way here. Maybe your brother and father made a deal for peace at Riverrun."

"Maybe," she replied. "You do believe me, don't you?"

"Sure," he said. "I don't think anyone would make up a thing like that. If I can be the son of the king, I'm ready to believe anything is possible."

After he said that Arya felt good inside. She felt good because maybe Sansa was coming. That was good. Despite their many fights, Arya missed Sansa. And once she was here, it would be time to go home at last. She also felt good that Gendry had believed her. He didn't call her stupid and say she was just a little girl who had a bad dream. Arya hadn't told her father about the first dream. She was afraid he would say it was just a nightmare. But she knew it wasn't.

"Maybe that's why you dreamed about the Iron Throne," she told him as they continued walking. "Your father sat on it for fourteen years."

He snorted. "If he sat there that long he should have taken it to a smith and made it more comfortable."

Soon they were at the kitchens. The kitchens of Harrenhal were massive and were working at full capacity. It was warm inside and people were moving everywhere, getting breakfast ready. Some were frying sausages and bacon and fish, others were boiling eggs and slicing ham and cheese, and there was Hot Pie, pulling loaves of warm bread from the ovens. The old woman in charge shouted orders and everyone bustled about. They left the wheel barrow by the door and made their way to Hot Pie who was now loading loaves of bread into different wicker baskets for different parts of the castle.

"Here for the armory's breakfast," Gendry said to him after they made their good mornings.

"This basket," Hot Pie said as he pointed. He added a small clay jar of butter and one of jam. It looked like strawberry to Arya. That was good. "Take some eggs also," Hot Pie told them and Gendry filled another small basket with about a dozen boiled eggs from a large basket that had many dozens.

"What about bacon?" Gendry asked and Arya's stomach rumbled at the smell of the bacon sizzling in a pan nearby.

Hot Pie shook his head. "For the lords and commanders, you know that. I'll get you a bowl of drippings."

He went off and when he was gone Gendry quickly added one more loaf of bread to their basket from a nearby tray. Arya looked around to see what she could take as well, and soon had a big chunk of cheese in her pocket. They asked a woman for some apples that were in a basket and she said to take as many as they could carry and soon they had a bunch. After that Hot Pie came back with a big bowl full of bacon drippings.

"What's for lunch?" Arya asked.

Hot Pie shrugged. "Don't know. Sorry, got more bread to bake."

They left and on the way out Gendry grabbed some sliced ham off an unguarded tray and they ran out the doors as fast as they could without dropping or spilling anything, giggling a bit as they ran. They loaded the wheel barrow and then headed to the castle's small brewery nearby. The man in charge gave them two large clay jugs full of ale. In a short time they were back at the armory and all of the workers were awake now and they sat around a large wooden workbench and had breakfast. Arya sat next to Gendry. She liked sitting here cause no one cared she was a high born girl. They didn't call her 'my lady' cause Arya had told them all on the first day not to do that. She liked listening to them talk about work, while she ate buttered bread dipped in bacon drippings, and drank a bit of ale to wash it down.

"This lot of Lannisters will soon be gone," Lucan said in a low voice after most of breakfast was done. As Arya took a bite from a green apple that was a bit sour he looked at her. "Your father will make the peace, the gods be good."

"He will," she said. "He promised."

"I seen him here before," Lucan told her after a sip of ale. "Years ago, when he was a young man not yet married. The year of the false spring."

"Aye," said another older man. "The year of the tournament."

"What a shame," said Lucan with a wistful sigh. "Such a lovely tournament. It all went to pieces after that."

"What happened?" Gendry asked.

"King Robert was in love with Lord Stark's sister, so the wind said," Lucan told them. "Small folk always hear such rumors about the lords and ladies. This one turned out to be true."

"Aye," said the other man. "Course Robert wasn't king then, just Lord of Storm's End. Mad Aerys was still king."

"Aye," replied Lucan. He now looked at Arya as he talked. "Then Prince Rhaegar named your aunt the beauty of the tournament, and him married to that woman from Dorne. He did it in front of his wife and Robert and your father and all the rest of the lords and ladies and all the small folk gathered there. What a scandal it caused. That was the start of all the trouble and then sure enough we had war."

Arya had heard her father mention this to Yoren that night on the walls of the hold fast. But she was confused. How could that cause a war? "I thought the war started when Rhaegar kidnapped my aunt and then the Mad King killed my uncle and grandfather?"

"That was the worst part of it," said Lucan. "But what happened here made the hate begin and the rest made it grow into war." Then he said no more about it, drained his ale and stood. "Sooner this war is over, sooner life will be good again. Time to work, lads."

Arya spent the rest of the day hanging about the armory, watching them work, lending a hand when she could, and talking to Gendry and the others about metal and how to work it. She had no more direwolf dreams that night and the next morning after breakfast Arya was summoned to see Lord Tywin in Lady Whent's solar.

She entered after a guard took Needle from her and opened the door. Lord Tywin was sitting at the table with many pieces of parchment in front of him and what looked like a map.

"Good morning, my lord," she said to him.

"Good morning lady…Arya," he said with a slight grin. "Come, sit. We have things to discuss."

She sat in the chair he indicated. "Have you had breakfast?" he asked.

"Yes, my lord."

"At the armory again?"

"Yes, my lord. I…my friend works there."

"Yes, the boy Gendry. You know who he is I take it."

"He told me."

Lord Tywin snorted. "He's not the only one of Robert's bastards, did you know?"

"No, my lord." Neither Gendry or her father had mentioned that, if they even knew.

"I am sure Gendry knows by now. Your father knows for certain. Gendry has several half brothers and sisters throughout the kingdoms. And to think I let my daughter…well, that matters not now. Robert is dead."

"Yes, my lord."

He looked at her for a long moment. "Can you make your letters? Can you read?"

"Of course, my lord. Maester Luwin taught us all how to read and write."

"Good," he answered. "I have had word from Riverrun. Your father arrived safely and he and my son are now in negotiation with your brother Robb and the northern lords. Your father wants you to write to him. Just a short note to say how you are and such."

"My lord, may I ask a question?"

He nodded. "You may."

"Is my sister still in King's Landing or is she on her way here?"

"She left King's Landing several days ago. Perhaps in a few more days she will be here."

Arya smiled. "That is good news."

"Yes. Now here is a piece of parchment, a quill and some ink. Write your note and then I will make sure it gets sent to your father by raven. Write small, so it will fit on the parchment."

"Yes, my lord." Arya took the quill and dipped it in the ink and then thought for a moment on what to write and then began.

_Dear Father and Mother and Robb. I am well. Lord Tywin is a good host. Everyone is nice to me. I spend my days in the kitchens with Hot Pie or at the armory with Gendry. Lord Tywin told me Sansa is coming to Harrenhal soon. I hope to see you all soon. I love you. Arya._

She finished and he handed her a small container of sand, which she sprinkled on the parchment to soak up the excess ink. Then she handed him the letter. He read it, nodded, and said, "Good, that will do." Then his face took on a puzzled look. "Hot Pie?"

"A boy who was in the Night's Watch party. He's now in the kitchens here. He's a baker's boy. He calls himself Hot Pie, my lord. I don't know his real name."

"Seems an appropriate name for a baker's boy. You know you were quite resourceful in slipping out of King's Landing."

"I had Yoren's help, my lord."

"Yes, the Night's Watch man. Terrible business at that hold fast. I sent my son south to find your father to prevent such a thing from happening."

"He was too late."

"Yes," Lord Tywin said thoughtfully. "Your father says you fought as well."

She nodded. "I had to my lord. Or me and Hot Pie and Gendry would be dead now."

"Indeed," he replied. "And that would not do at all. So, that is all for now. Off you go and I will tell you when your father is returning."

She stood and dipped her head. "Thank you, my lord."

As she left and got Needle back she went down the stairs where she got a fright. The tall man with the long ropey beard called Vargo Hoat was coming up the stairs. When he saw her he stopped and smiled in a scary way.

"Tho, one of Lord Thtark's little wardth," he said in his slobbery voice.

She stared at him and kept her left hand on Needle. "You stay away from me."

He laughed. "A little boy with a little thword."

He didn't know who she was, didn't know she was a girl and Lord Stark's daughter. "I've killed men," Arya said in a strong voice. Here was the man who swore to kill her father. The stairway was narrow, and she was small and quick. She was a water dancer, and he was just a big oaf with an ugly beard, an ugly horse, and a funny voice. Not today, Syrio told her. Not today, she repeated to herself, tightening her grip on Needle.

"Out of the way brat before I teach you how to kill for real."

Arya was about to pull Needle when she heard a loud yell from behind and above. "Hoat!" shouted Lord Tywin. "Get up here, now!"

She turned and he was standing there, a terrible look on his face, anger like she had never seen on anyone's face before. "Ath my lord commandth," said Hoat calmly and then he walked past her and he and Lord Tywin went back upstairs.

Arya let out a deep breath she had been holding in and ran down the stairs and out in the courtyard. She hung about the nearby stables, looking towards Lady Whent's tower. A long time later Hoat came out of Lady Whent's tower and climbed on his funny zorse. She wanted to follow him, find a way to kill him, but then the gates opened and he rode out and was gone. Arya knew that there was a big army camped outside and knew that Hoat would be surrounded by his men. She put away the idea of killing him for now.

Three days after that she had the third direwolf dream. This time it was so real she knew she had to be inside Nymeria.

Again she saw Sansa make her way into the woods. Was Nymeria following them? Was she tracking them, knowing it was Sansa? After Sansa made water she laced up her breeches and then turned and looked right at Nymeria. And then Arya felt herself fully become Nymeria. Arya felt herself walking towards her sister, felt herself lick her palm, felt her sister's arms around her, heard her talking to her, saying 'Nymeria' and asked if Arya dreamed of Nymeria. What did that mean? Did Sansa dream of Lady? And then Sansa looked into the direwolf's eyes and Sansa's suddenly looked shocked.

"Arya?" she asked and Arya got a shock as well. She knows its me!

Then everything happened fast. Someone grabbed Sansa from behind, a man, who yelled "I got her." Arya didn't know why but she knew this was danger and she let the direwolf instincts take over. She leaped at the man and bit him hard on the crotch. He screamed and screamed an Arya shook her head and felt the warm blood flow through her teeth and mouth and she did not let go. Then another man was attacking Sansa and she bit his arm hard and he dropped his knife. Arya felt a madness come over her and she sank her teeth deeper and felt bones crunch under the warm flesh and she ripped his arm off.

Then he was there, the big man with a sword, killing the other two men, She knew this man, the man who had killed her friend. The Hound. She wanted to kill him and every fiber of the direwolf's body shouted at her to kill him. She leaped and knocked him down and just missed his throat with her powerful jaws.

Then her sister had her around the neck. "ARYA! STOP!" she yelled and Arya tried to fight her but then relaxed a bit. Sansa was pleading for his life, pleading for this man she hated and she wanted to kill him, to rip his ugly scarred head off and feast on his flesh. But Sansa's words calmed her rage and then she leaped off him and was gone through the woods. For a long time Arya stayed with Nymeria and she circled back towards the camp and watched and when she was sure her sister was safe her mind fled from Nymeria once again. Arya awoke bathed in sweat and she was trembling all over. She wished Gendry was here to hold her again and then she wondered why she thought of that and shook her head.

"Bad dreams," she whispered to herself in the dark but she knew they weren't. She knew they were real.

That morning as she and Gendry pushed the wheel barrow to the kitchens again she told him all about the dream.

"Gods," he said when she finished and he just stared at her. "You killed two men?"

"The Hound killed two men."

"But you attacked them."

"To save my sister!" Gods, why was he so bull headed sometimes?

"Right," he said, thinking hard. "But…you also attacked the Hound."

"You know why I did that. He killed my friend."

He nodded. She had told him that whole story one night on the way to Harrenhal.

"The Hound was helping your sister."

Arya chewed her bottom lip like she did when she was thinking. "Maybe."

"No maybes. It sounds like he killed those men. And you said she pleaded for his life."

"All right, so he's helping her. I still want to kill him."

"Don't be stupid," Gendry said and it was like a slap in the face, worse because it came from him. "He's a monster. He'll kill you quick."

She dropped her handle of the wheel barrow, punched him hard in the arm, and then turned without a word and walked back to Lady Whent's tower, ignoring his shouts for her to come back. She went to her room and lay in bed, her stomach grumbling and her mind angry at Gendry, at the Hound, at Lord Tywin, and her father and everyone who had anything to do with why she was here now and not home in her bed in Winterfell.

A long while later a knock came to her door and the guard opened it. "Go away!" she yelled.

"Boy here to see you, my lady. Said he brought you breakfast."

She looked and it was Gendry carrying a basket with food in it. "Can I come in?" he asked in a quiet voice.

She was hungry and so she nodded and sat up in her bed and Gendry came in and sat in a chair across from her and handed her the basket. It had some sliced buttered bread and a bit of cheese and two apples and even some fried bacon.

"How'd you get bacon?" Arya asked to break the silence.

"Said it was for Lady Stark and the cook dished it up real quick."

"Don't call me that!"

"But you are. Can't be helped."

She chewed a bit of bacon and it tasted good. "I know," she said with a sigh. "Some day when I have my own castle no one will call me lady and everyone will be my friend."

His face screwed up and she knew he was thinking hard again. "That won't work," he told her. "Small folk need a lord or lady to look after them. They need to show you respect. You can't be friends with people who work for you."

"I suppose not," she said as she chewed on some bread. She looked at him. "You'll be my friend, won't you? When we get to Winterfell?"

He grinned. "Sure…I know your father likes me." Then his face fell a bit. "But what about your brothers and sister and mother? To them I'm just a common smith. Low born scum."

Her eyes flashed angrily at him. "You are not! You're the king's son."

"Bastard son."

"Don't say that. You're older than Joffrey, you're his first son. His true son." They had heard the stories everyone was talking about, that the Kingslayer was Joffrey's true father. Was it really true, she had asked her father and he just nodded a bit and told her not to speak of it. "You should be on the Iron Throne, not Joffrey and then you could make the kingdom better and I could…I mean I could…I… could be one of your lords, lord of a holdfast somewhere."

He was laughing and she got mad again. She thought he was laughing at her but he wasn't. "Me? On the Iron Throne? If I beat all the barbs off it, maybe. But bastards can't inherit, remember."

"Joffrey is a bastard, too. So is Tommen if the stories are true."

"If it's true," he said. "Then Stannis is the true king."

"You are," she said again as she ate more bacon.

"Don't be saying that. Joffrey already wants me dead. I don't want anyone here to try to get in his favor by shipping me off to King's Landing. Or my head."

"Sorry," she said quietly.

"Me, too," Gendry said after a moment. "But Arya, you can't fight the Hound. He's a monster. He'll kill you, you know that's true. I…I don't want to see you die."

She felt good when he said that. "I don't want you to die either."

They looked at each other for a long quiet moment and then Gendry turned red and looked away.

"What's wrong?" she asked, not understanding.

"Nothing," he said in a strange voice and he stood. "I got work to do."

"Gendry…I can kill him. I know you think I can't because I'm just a little girl."

"That you are," he said without looking at her.

"Look at me," she said as she stood. He was so tall she had to look up at him by craning her neck.

He looked and gulped, his face still red. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"Everything," he said suddenly, looking right at her. "I can't help it but it's all wrong. I'm wrong. I'm a man. I'm too old. I'm low born. I can't be…it can never be. I'm crazy for even thinking it."

She was about to say he wasn't crazy and then she understood with a shock. He likes me._ He likes me!_ No one had ever liked her, not in that way. The boys all fawned over her sister and Jeyne and the other pretty girls at Winterfell. No one had ever liked Arya Horseface. Not in that way.

Arya was suddenly afraid and she stepped back from him and sat on the bed. "You should go."

"Arya…"

"I know," she said quietly. "You're right. It can't be. You're a man and I am a girl. You should go."

His head dropped and he sighed. "Sorry. I…won't bother you again. Lady Stark."

That felt like someone had stabbed her, those two words that made the gulf between them so big. He reached the door when Arya suddenly felt terrible and knew this was all wrong and so she spoke again. "Let's pretend this never happened," she said as she stood and went to the door beside him. She didn't want to lose her only real friend, not because of something silly like this, something she or he could not control.

Gendry smiled when she said that and it was a nice smile. "All right. Arya."

That made her smile and then she said something that she instantly regretted, and for a long time wondered why she had said it, but many years later when she looked back on it she knew it had been the right thing to say. She wasn't even looking at him when she said it, just staring off into space as if talking to herself.

"Some day I will be a woman."

After a long pause he spoke. "Yes, you will."

Then she punched his arm and he winced. "Come on. Race you to the forge."

They spent the rest of the day together and all seemed well again, as if nothing strange had happened between them. He was really busy, getting armor ready for the Lannister men and everyone was talking about how her father must have made the peace because the castle was so busy getting ready to move out. All the soldiers were saying they were heading south, that Renly and Stannis would soon be besieging King's Landing and they were going to rescue the King and Queen. Arya nodded when they said that and smiled like she was happy that would happen but secretly she wanted the two of them to burn or have their heads chopped off and put on spikes. Or maybe Joffrey would stab his stupid self to death on one of those barbs on the Iron Throne.

She knew she had been silly. Gendry could never sit there, could never be king. Arya laughed to herself as she thought on what he had said about it. Why hadn't any king ever beaten those barbs off of it? It seems so…what was the word…smart, she thought, as she looked at Gendry as he pounded on a metal breast plate while she poured more water in the large barrel that he quenched the heated metal in.

Suddenly there was a silence throughout the armory and she heard someone say "Lord Tywin". Arya turned and there he was in all his fancy armor and his red cloak with several men following him. He stopped before her and Gendry. They immediately dipped their heads and said "My lord."

"So, you want to be a smith?" Lord Tywin said to Arya. "Not much of a job for a young lady."

"I...I just like being here, my lord. That's all."

"Ah, yes. Your friend. You must be Gendry."

"Yes, my lord," he said, dipping his head again.

Lord Tywin looked at him for a long moment. "Yes, I can see it." Then he turned to Arya. "Your father is coming back from Riverrun. And your sister was spotted on the road to Harrenhal. She should be here soon, today perhaps."

"That's good news, my lord," Arya said as her heart soared. "Thank you."

He nodded and then turned and walked off with his men following him. That evening as she and Gendry were about to leave the forge to find out what was for supper suddenly the main gates were opening. In rode some Lannister men on horse back, and there behind them was a large wheel house and then…she saw him, big and tall on his massive war horse.

"The Hound," she said through gritted teeth.

"Be calm," Gendry said beside her. "Where's your sister?"

Arya looked and then she saw Sansa, looking tiny as she rode beside the Hound. She was on a brown palfrey and was wearing a stained blue riding jacket. And beside her was…it couldn't be… Jeyne Poole!

Suddenly Arya began to believe they would soon be in Winterfell. She let out a yell. "Sansa! Jeyne!" and she bolted towards them, not caring about anything else in the world. Tears fell from her eyes and then she was there and they were off their horses and Sansa was hugging her and Jeyne was hugging her and the three girls were crying and laughing and cared not who was looking at them.

"Where is Father?" Sansa suddenly asked, looking around. Gods, she was getting tall, Arya thought. Will I be that tall later?

"Gone to Riverrun to see Robb and Mother," Arya told her.

"Mother? She's at Riverrun?"

"Yes…and Father will be back soon and then we can all go home to Winterfell," Arya told them and then Jeyne began to cry again and they hugged each other once more.

Behind her Arya heard the Hound growl at someone. "Boy, take care of our horses. And mind mine, he'll bite your hand off if you're not careful."

"I'm a smith, not a stable boy," Gendry said and he started to walk away.

"You'll be dead if you're not careful boy!" the Hound snarled and then Arya was in front of him.

"You leave him alone dog!" she shouted at him and then she realized many eyes were on them.

"Well," said the Hound with a laugh. "If it isn't the little she wolf. Still want to kill me? Where's your direwolf now, warg?"

Warg? What was he talking about?

"What's this all about Clegane?" said a voice and then Tywin Lannister was there.

"Misunderstanding, my lord," the Hound said as he dipped his head.

"Where's my granddaughter?" Lord Tywin asked and by then some stable boys had run up to take their horses and the Hound and another Lannister man led Lord Tywin to the wheel house.

"His granddaughter?" Arya asked Sansa and Jeyne in a low voice.

"Princess Myrcella," Sansa told her. "She's coming to Winterfell with us."

"Why?"

"She's a hostage," Sansa whispered. "I'll explain later. Oh, no. I forgot Ice!" She ran after the boys with the horses and was soon back carrying a large sword in a scabbard.

"Is it really Ice?" Arya asked in wonder.

"Yes, they gave it to me to give back to Father."

Meanwhile Princess Myrcella and two other girls had come out of the wheel house. Lord Tywin hugged his little granddaughter and then she was crying and speaking fast and Lord Tywin was glaring at the Hound and the Lannister man and said nothing but shushed his granddaughter and hugged her again. He had a woman and some of his men escort her and the two other girls away and into Lady Whent's tower, and then he rounded on the Hound and the Lannister man.

"This will not stand!" he shouted and the whole castle must have heard him. "You fools almost got her killed!"

Then suddenly Sansa spoke, in such a strong and confident tone it surprised Arya. Was this her sister? "It was Vargo Hoat's men, my lord," Sansa said. "Ser Robyn and Sandor Clegane and these other men saved our lives. It's not their fault. My lord."

Tywin stared at her and then grunted. "And who are you?"

"Sansa Stark, my lord."

He nodded. "Yes, I should have known. It was Hoat? Are you sure, girl?"

"She's sure, my lord," said the Hound. "One of them was the fat Dothraki that rides with Hoat."

"We saw them late in the day, heading east, to Maidenpoole, they said," the Lannister man told his liege lord. "Four of them came back at night and tried to kidnap Lady Stark and the Princess. We killed them all."

"Hoat," Lord Tywin said through gritted teeth. "Right. I'll deal with him. Ser Robyn, see to your men and move this damn wheel house. It's blocking my gate." The Lannister man left and started shouting orders to his men. Lord Tywin turned to the Hound. "Clegane, get yourself some food and take a bath and then resume your duties. My granddaughter will be in this tower on the fifth floor. And if I catch you drunk I'll have your head off. Can you manage that?"

The Hound grimaced. "Yes, my lord."

"Good," Lord Tywin said. "Oh, and one more thing. Your brother is gone. I sent him away as soon as I knew you were coming. I will not have your blood feud on my doorstep. Is that clear?"

"Yes, my lord," the Hound said again and Arya knew he was not happy at that news but for some strange reason Sansa was smiling broadly.

As the Hound stalked off, Lord Tywin then turned to the girls. "So Arya, this is your sister. And…"

"Jeyne Poole, my lord," Arya said. "She is our friend from Winterfell." Well, Sansa's friend, but he didn't need to know that.

"Very well," said Lord Tywin. "The girls will stay in another of Lady Whent's handmaidens' rooms on your floor. Show them, please."

"Yes, my lord," she said and then Arya waved to them. "Follow me."

They walked behind her and entered the tower and went up the stairs until they came to the right floor and Arya found one of the other rooms that she knew was empty and opened the door. It was stuffy so she opened the shutters on the small window as Sansa and Jeyne collapsed on the two beds.

"Gods, what a journey," Sansa said.

"We almost died," Jeyne said in a rush.

"I know," said Arya.

Jeyne looked at her. "How do you know? You weren't there."

Sansa gave Arya a knowing look and Arya looked back. "I…I had trouble, too. It's war out there. We'll talk about it later. You must be hungry."

"Yes," said Sansa. "Where can we eat?"

"I'll get something for you. I know the cooks in the kitchens."

Jeyne laughed. "Just the same as in Winterfell."

Sansa glared at her friend. "Do you want food or not?"

"I…yes," said Jeyne, taken aback, casting her eyes down.

"It's okay," said Arya. "I just like the kitchens. And the stables and the forge and…"

"That boy," Sansa said suddenly. "The one you yelled at San…the Hound about. Who is he?"

"Boy?" Jeyne said with a laugh, not feeling bad anymore. "Did you see the size of his arms? He's a man, not a boy."

Arya felt her face flush for some reason. Why did that happen? "He's Gendry, works in the armory. He came from King's Landing with me. He's my friend."

"Does he have a girlfriend?" Jayne asked with a giggle and even Sansa laughed a bit this time.

"Yes," Arya said with a growl and they stared at her in an odd way. "Look we have a lot to talk about. First, food." She walked off to the kitchens burning with anger. Why was she mad if they made remarks about him? She didn't care for Gendry. Did she? She knew he liked her the way boys liked girls. Why had she said to him she would be a woman some day? That was so stupid. But…oh, it was too hard to think about.

Twenty minutes later she came back with a basket full of bread and cheese and half a roasted chicken and a small pot of barley and beef soup. They all ate it and then started telling their stories and Arya told them it all, about Syrio dieing and hiding in the city and seeing Sansa on the steps of the Sept of Baelor, and Yoren cutting her hair, and then meeting Gendry and Hot Pie and Lommy, the trip north, all the trouble they had and the battles and everything. Well, almost everything. She didn't tell them Gendry was the bastard the gold cloaks had been looking for or that he was Robert's son. When she was done they just stared at her.

"You…killed people?" Sansa asked in shock.

Arya stared at her sister. "Yes."

Sansa just stared back with wide eyes, but Jeyne scoffed. "Really? How do we know you are telling the truth? I bet you made all that up."

"Oh, shut up," Sansa snapped at her friend. "Of course it's true. You remember what the innkeeper said? At least Arya didn't have to be rescued like you did."

"That…that wasn't my fault," Jeyne stammered. "They killed my father. They killed everyone!"

Now Sansa felt bad. "I know. I'm sorry I yelled."

"What are you talking about?" Arya asked them. "Why did you have to rescue her?"

Jeyne spoke quickly. "No…don't tell her. I'll die from embarrassment!"

"Arya told us everything," Sansa said. "So we should tell her. Everything."

Jeyne stared at Sansa and then looked at Arya. "You can't tell anyone in Winterfell. You must promise!"

"I promise," Arya answered quickly, wanting to know the secret.

Sansa took a deep breath, then spoke. "Lord Baelish kept her prisoner in one of his whore houses. He…he was training her to be one of the…ladies."

Jeyne let out a small wail and began to cry and Sansa sat with her and comforted her friend.

"Gods," Arya said with a shake of her head. "Baelish should die!"

"He was arrested!" Jeyne said quickly, wiping her eyes.

And then they talked about that and everything else that had happened to them and before long it was getting dark and Arya got them some candles. Then Sansa got to the part about the wolf in the woods.

"It was big," she said, looking at Arya.

"It bit those two men, tore one's arm off," Jeyne told her.

"Yes," said Arya. "Wolves will do that. Especially direwolves."

"I need a bath," Sansa suddenly said, as if she didn't want to talk about this anymore.

Soon Arya led them to the baths, after picking out some of Lady Whent's handmaiden's dresses she thought would fit them. Arya showed them where to go and the woman running the baths got them some hot water and soap and Arya went outside to get out of the steamy air. As she stood there Gendry came along, all covered in black dust.

"Seven hells!" Arya exclaimed. "What happened to you?"

"The coal bin," he said sheepishly. "Fell in trying to get my shovel I had dropped."

"You need a bath."

"That's why I'm here. Where's your sister?"

"Inside, taking a bath with Jeyne."

"Who's Jeyne?"

"Sansa's friend from Winterfell," Arya said and then she laughed. "She said you have big arms and asked me if you have a girlfriend."

Even in the growing darkness and under the coal dust she could see he had turned red again. "What did you say?"

"I told them you were married and had seven kids," Arya lied, laughing as she said it.

"Maybe some day, the gods be good," Gendry said and then he walked off to the men's side of the baths.

What the hell did that mean?

Ten minutes later Sansa came out alone and she hugged Arya from behind, surprising her. Sansa smelled of soap and was still a bit damp. "I know it was you," she whispered in Arya's ear. "Thank you."

Arya turned and looked at her in the darkness. "I don't know why. But yes, it was me inside Nymeria. I thought I was dreaming at first but now I think I was really inside her."

"Sandor said we are wargs."

"Wargs? Sandor?"

"The Hound I mean. Look…he's not that bad. He helped me a lot. He's not as terrible as you think."

Arya gritted her teeth. "He killed Mycah."

"I know," she said quietly.

"What's a warg?"

"Us," Sansa answered. "We can go inside the direwolves and be part of them."

"You too?" Arya asked in surprise.

"I did…I think…but not since Lady died." Sansa sniffed as she said this.

Arya sighed. "So much has happened since that day."

"I just want to go home," Sansa replied in a heavy voice.

"So do I."

The day after the next her father arrived from Riverrun with the Imp and the rest and they had a big family reunion and he was happy to get his sword back as well. He spent much of the rest of the day with Lord Tywin and the Imp and the other commanders. After supper, she and her father and Sansa settled down in Arya's room and he told them all that he had done and all that would happen next.

"Robb and your mother will meet us on the Red Fork. There is a stone bridge nearby. The two heralds we've exchanged will bring the two copies of the treaty to the bridge center and Robb and Lord Tywin will meet and sign them. Then we will walk north and the Kingslayer will walk south and that will be the end of it."

"What about Gendry and Hot Pie?" Arya asked.

"What?" Sansa said in surprise. "What about them?" Sansa and Jeyne had met Gendry and Hot Pie the day before. Gendry was polite but Arya didn't like the way Jeyne was looking at him, and Gendry's face turned red again when Jeyne asked him how old he was and how tall, and silly things silly girls always asked boys they liked. Arya had scowled at her and said they needed to go to the kitchens. Hot Pie had stuttered and bowed low and called Sansa and Jeyne 'my lady' and dropped a pan of dough on the floor while Arya laughed at him.

"I promised them places at Winterfell," her father told Sansa.

"Jeyne will like that," said Sansa with a giggle. "She's taken a fancy to the smith."

"Gendry's his name," Arya said with a snarl.

Her father shrugged. "Well, if he likes her too maybe we can make them a match. He's an orphan and she has no family left."

"He won't like her!" said Arya fiercely and then she ran from the room.

She was half way down the stairs before she even realized what she had done and then wondered why and then knew why and stopped and her father caught up to her on the second floor landing. "What's that all about?" her father asked sharply.

"Nothing," she said looking down, chewing her bottom lip.

"Sit," he commanded and they sat on the stairs at the top, side by side. Her father looked at her.

"You like Gendry?" he asked quietly.

"No!" she said and it felt wrong when she said it and she chewed her lip. "Maybe," she admitted in a small voice.

He nodded once. "Arya…you're still a girl but you are also a lady of Winterfell and no matter how many times you deny it is still true. And he's…well, he's a good lad, I don't doubt that. He's strong and brave and true, all the good things a husband should be. And I know you've grown close to him, all that has happened. But…but.."

"He's not good enough for me? Is that it?"

He paused. "If I had all the say in it I would gladly let you do what you want. But…"

"Mother."

"Aye, there's that. And…I wanted this to wait but I guess I must tell you now. You have already been promised to another."

She stared at him in shock. Nothing could have surprised her more. "What? Who?"

"The youngest son of Walder Frey."

"Seven hells!" she said and felt as if her whole world was collapsing. "Why did you do that!" she yelled at him.

He sighed heavily. "Your mother and Robb did it." He quickly explained it all, and about how Robb had to marry one of them as well.

"For a bridge?" Arya said in confusion as tears came from her eyes. "My mother and brother sold me for a bridge?"

"A bridge they needed to defeat the Kingslayer and take Riverrun. We would never be going home if they hadn't done it."

She shook her head. "No, no, and no! I will not marry a Frey! I'll run away. I'll kill him! I'll kill that old man who's his father! I'll…why are you laughing?"

There he was, laughing his fool head off, and then he finally stopped. "I told your mother that's what you would say."

"It's true. You can't make me do it!"

"Aye? Well, then I won't."

"What?" That wasn't what she had expected.

"You come to the Twins, you act like you will marry him and all that. You be nice and so on. Robb will get married, we can't avoid that. But you are not a woman yet. We can wait three or four years. And winter is coming. There will be no wedding till spring comes."

Arya slowly calmed down. "Good. But…what happens later?"

He stared at her. "I'll figure it out, not to worry. I would not have my daughter marry a Frey for all the gold dragons in the Seven Kingdoms."

She hugged him tight. "I love you."

He kissed her forehead. "As I you, sweet child. Now off to bed with you."

She went to stand and then paused. "What about Gendry?"

Her father sighed heavily. "Let's wait and see, all right? You're not old enough to be thinking about boys anyways. And if he lays a hand on you before you are old enough I'll have his hands off."

"You will not! I'll do it first!"

He laughed again. "That's my girl. Now let's get some rest. Long days ahead of us, my sweet child."

That night Arya slept as if she had never slept before and her sleep was deep and peaceful and untroubled for once in a long time.


	16. Chapter 16 Varys

**Ned Stark Lives! Chapter 16 Varys**

"It's a falsehood," said Lord Petyr Baelish as he stood before the Queen and the King in the small council chamber behind the throne room in the Red Keep at Kings Landing. Also seated were Lord Varys, Grand Maester Pycelle, and Lord Janos Slynt, Commander of the City Watch. Two large gold cloaks flanked Baelish on either side as he declared his innocence of the charge of treason. Baelish looked calm and was well dressed, as usual. He did not look like a man who had spent the last four days in the prisons of the Red Keep.

Varys observed Littlefinger and almost sighed but held it in. He knew Baelish was guilty of the charges against him, of telling the Stark's the dagger used in the attack on Brandon Stark belonged to Tyrion Lannister. He had been standing beside him when he told that story to Catelyn Stark more than a moons turn ago now. Accusing Tyrion Lannister was the minor charge, as far as these proceedings went. The second charge of treason, more specifically of inciting warfare between the Stark and Lannister Houses, was what could cost Baelish his head. But unless they could prove the first charge, there was nothing to the second.

The Queen stared at Baelish for a long moment. Joffrey wasn't even paying attention, looking very bored, as if he wanted to be somewhere else. Slynt also wished to be away, an abashed look on his face as if he had done something wrong. No doubt he was still stinging from the Queen's tongue lashing she gave him after the fiasco at the Gate of the Gods when Myrcella and Sansa Stark had left the city, Varys thought. Pycelle, however, seem very keen about what was going on, and that intrigued Varys not a bit. Pycelle was like a lap dog at his masters heels. He was a Lannister man, through and through, despite his oath of office which says he must serve whoever was sitting on the Iron Throne, and not take sides in any dynastic disputes.

Baelish continued speaking. "Who dares to make this accusation? I would like to face my accuser."

Oh, that was good. Varys knew as did Baelish that his accusers, the Starks, were over a hundred or more leagues to the north, far away.

Now the Queen spoke, staring at Baelish intently. "This accusation comes from Eddard Stark and his wife. My father has spoken to Eddard Stark. He claims that you told Catelyn Stark that the dagger used in the attack on their son belonged to my brother."

"I never said such a thing to Catelyn Stark. I have not seen her in many years, Your Grace," Baelish replied, lying through his teeth, Varys knew. "I believe she and her husband are trying to justify her kidnapping of your brother by laying some of the blame at my door."

Pycelle cleared his throat with a small rumble. "Are there any other witnesses to this conversation Catelyn Stark claims she had with you?"

"As the conversation did not take place, I cannot see how there would be," Baelish answered.

The Queen now turned to Varys. "Well, master of whispers, what have you discovered in your investigation?"

Everything, Varys wanted to say, but he couldn't, and for the very reason that for once in a very long time someone had outsmarted him at his own game. That someone was Littlefinger, and it galled Varys to no end.

The Queen had order Baelish arrested and confined to the black cells as soon as she received the raven from her father with Ned Stark's accusations. Her father left it up to her to deal with it, and in her special way she had botched it from the beginning. Instead of calling on Varys and telling him this news, she had Baelish arrested immediately and all his papers and ledgers concerning the finances of the realm were confiscated. On hearing this news Varys had known it was a botched job. Much as he despised Baelish, he knew the realm needed him, if for only a little more time.

Baelish made gold appear as if from thin air, and the realm needed gold for its war to come. Few men had the skill Baelish did, and much as it pained Varys, he knew a Baelish under arrest was of no use to anyone. Even his death would do nothing but placate Ned Stark and Tyrion Lannister's anger. The war had started and even if Littlefinger had some part in its origins as Varys now suspected with a certainty, there was nothing Baelish's arrest or death could do to stop it.

Varys had hurried to the Queen to ask her to release Baelish, or at least put him under house arrest, while he began a full investigation. She had snarled at him in anger and asked what plot he and Baelish were cooking up now. When she calmed down Cersei told him to inquire but to leave Baelish rot in the black cells for three or four days and perhaps then he would confess his crimes.

Three or four hours would have been too long to leave Baelish unattended in prison, but three or four days was a lifetime for such a man to do what he did best, win over people to his side with the magic sound of coins clinking together. Varys could not very well go to Baelish in his disguise as Rugen because that was something he wanted no one else to know about. Ned Stark already knew, and that was one person too many already. He tried to get inside as himself but the goalers were insistent that the Queen said no one could see Baelish yet.

Of course, by the time he managed to get in with the Queen's permission, Baelish was no longer in the black cells. He was in an upper level one, one that actually had a barred window. It was large, designed for twenty or so men, but the cells were empty since the Nights' Watch party had taken almost all the prisoners. When Baelish entered the cell Littlefinger was sitting at a table, enjoying a meal of roast beef and boiled potatoes and carrots, the table covered in fine linen, the plate and utensils the best money could buy, and there was a fine bottle of Arbor gold next to a half full crystal wine glass. He was dressed well and had his mocking bird pin on as usual. The cell was well lit with a lantern and several candles. There was actually a bed with a mattress in the corner and a nice porcelain chamber pot, not the bucket they usually leave for prisoners.

"Ah, Lord Varys," he said with a smile. "Do sit down."

Varys sat in the chair opposite him as the gaolers left and locked the door. "I must say dear Petyr, you have made life quite comfortable for yourself while a prisoner."

"Yes," Baelish said with his usual grin. "And it only took twenty minutes of hints to my guards that life would be much better for all of us if I did not rot in a black cell."

"Hints of promises of coin, no doubt."

"No doubt. Coin now paid, and with more to come in the future, if my stay is extended."

"And if the Queen should hear of this arrangement?" Varys asked as he looked around the room. "I think a few gaolers will be short a few heads."

"All men must take risks to get anywhere in life," Baelish replied.

"As you have on many occasions."

Baelish smiled, sat back and took a sip of wine. "Arbor gold," he said with a long sigh. "I'd offer you some but there is no other glass."

"No matter. I prefer to keep my wits about me when dealing with traitors," Varys replied.

Baelish set his glass down. "So we come to it. What are the charges?"

"The Queen has heard the most dreadful story about you and Catelyn Stark. It seems you told her and her husband that the dagger an assassin used in Winterfell to try to kill Brandon Stark was the property of one Tyrion Lannister, the Queen's brother."

Baelish looked surprised, but not really. He had expected this. "Really? And how did the Queen come to hear of this story?"

"From her father, who heard it from Ned Stark himself at Harrenhal. Or from Tyrion who heard it from Ned, or from both of them. The details I do not know exactly."

"It is odd that such a story is circulating when I never happened to tell it," Baelish said.

This was too much and Varys just scoffed. "Oh, come Petyr, you know I was there. You know I heard the whole thing. I even cut my poor finger on that deadly dagger."

Now Baelish's eyes flashed dangerously. "Did you? Perhaps you are mistaken. Perhaps you were somewhere else that day. Perhaps you were with another person, having another conversation, cutting your finger on another dagger.'

That gave Varys pause. He raised his eyebrows. "Oh? Please, do tell me where I was when you threw a Valyarian steel dagger into a wall and told Catelyn Stark that Tyrion won the same dagger from you when Ser Loras unhorsed Ser Jamie at Joffrey's name day tournament a year past?"

"I seem to recall seeing you with a foreign friend of yours."

Varys stared at him. "Do go on." He had met a foreign friend, not on the day Baelish mentioned, but on another, about a week later, and he had thought he had been so discrete.

"This foreign friend, from across the Narrow Sea. He and you were whispering, in the lower levels. You were discussing something, I know not all the details. But I did hear two words from the ears and eyes I own that did peak my interest."

"Two words? Is that all?"

"Yes. Two names actually. Both of them Targaryen names. Daenerys and Aegon."

"What of it?" Varys asked calmly. He could not know that, that was impossible.

"Now why would you be discussing Targaryens with a foreigner?"

"Telling the history of our Seven Kingdoms perhaps. I do not recall the conversation entirely."

"Not your Seven Kingdoms, Lord Varys. You are from the Free Cities, are you not?"

Varys smiled. "Everyone of importance knows that. Lord Tywin for one, the Queen certainly, and even Joffrey I am sure. If there is a point to all this please make it."

Baelish smiled. "You were never in that room. You never heard anything. Catelyn Stark was in King's Landing to be sure. Others saw her and her companion Ser Rodrik, so that cannot be entirely denied. But I did not see her, nor did you. She asked about the dagger, she met with Ned, and that was it."

So that's his game. "And if I tell the Queen the truth? That you claimed the dagger was Tyrion's, that you helped the Stark's believe the Lannister's had something to do with their son's attack, which in its roundabout way started a war. What will happen to me then?"

"With my last breath before they lock my cell door forever or before Ser Ilyn Payne's sword falls I will tell them you are involved in a conspiracy to return the Targaryens to the throne."

Varys stared at him and there was a long moment when neither said a word. Finally Varys spoke. "Your proof? A few whispers in the dark overheard by ears not your own?"

Now Baelish smiled. "A few whispers are all it will take in Cersei's ears. You know what she is like. You have been by her side for almost fifteen years. She thought you were her friend at first, bringing her all the juiciest gossip of the realm and the court. But now she knows you for what you are and despises you. She is power hungry, vindictive, and above all paranoid. She sees plots behind every door, and under every rock there is a spider. It would not take much for her to believe me. She already knows you have contacts across the Narrow Sea, contacts that have been keeping a close watch on Rhaegar's brother and sister for many years. Strange how it took an angry Dothraki horse lord to finally kill Viserys when you most likely knew where he was all this time. She will twist that in her mind and wonder if Lord Varys has played her and her dead husband false all these years. Then she will crush you."

"The Queen could crush me anytime she likes. She is the Queen, after all."

"Queen Regent now, actually. But she has need of you yet. However, if she thinks you are planning to remove her beloved Joffrey and her from power, well, I don't think she will have need of you much longer."

Varys sighed heavily. "Dear Petyr, it pains me that we have come to this."

"Why, my dear Varys, you always knew we would. You play your game, I play mine, and someday we knew they would become one and the same and we would clash."

"In the game of thrones the players always clash before the end," Varys said, as he stood. "It's who survives at the end that matters. And I have a good idea that Ned Stark, despite the mistakes he has made, will be one of those still standing. He is no friend of yours. And Starks are similar to Lannisters in some ways despite their hatred of each other. They tend to pay their debts, eventually."

Baelish let out a short laugh. "If you think Tywin Lannister will ever let Ned Stark reach Winterfell, then you truly do not know all the players."

"Perhaps. But I would not count dear old Ned out of the game yet. Oh, dear, time flies. I do enjoy bandying words with you but there is a council meeting."

And so Varys had left him. Baelish's face was grinning and his words were still ringing in Varys ears. He was right of course. The Queen would have him in the torture chamber in no time if she heard such rumors. And poor Varys knew he could never stand torture. His most delicate parts were already gone, but there were other parts they could take, and pain they could inflict, and he was never a friend of pain. He would have to kill himself if they came for him, otherwise his tongue would betray all the plans that had been laid for so many years.

The next day Littlefinger was brought before the council and the charges presented to him to give him a chance to declare his innocence or guilt. Now the Queen's question to Varys hung in the air and he knew he could crush Littlefinger with ease. But he knew Littlefinger could do the same to him. Stand off.

Varys spoke. "I have learned that Catelyn Stark was indeed in King's Landing."

"When?" Joffrey demanded before Varys could speak again.

"More than a moon's turn past, Your Grace," Varys told him. "Perhaps a week before your uncle was taken prisoner at the crossroads inn. That was a chance meeting. From the reports I have it is …"

"Forget the inn," Cersei snapped. "What was she doing in King's Landing?"

"Making inquires about the dagger," Varys said and as he said it he looked at Joffrey, not the Queen. The day they had agreed to let Ned Stark take the black Joffrey had been quite put out about the talk of the attack on Brandon Stark. Now as Varys mentioned Catelyn Stark had been here asking about the dagger, Joffrey turned away from his look and fiddled with a gold brooch holding his cloak in place.

Cersei spoke and Varys looked back to her. "How did she get in the city? Who did she see?"

"She came by ship, and landed at the docks on the Blackwater in disguise as a common traveler. Her castellan, Ser Rodrik Cassel came with her. He made inquires about the dagger with your man-at-arms but learned nothing. Then she met with her husband, at least once. After that she left the city."

"Did she meet with Lord Baelish?" Cersei asked him quickly. "Are there any other witnesses?"

"None that I could find. There is no evidence she ever met with Lord Baelish," said Varys and he knew Baelish had him, as did Baelish, who said nothing and kept his features still, but Varys could see the triumph in his eyes.

Now Cersei had turned to look at Baelish sharply. "Did you meet with Catelyn Stark or not?"

"No, Your Grace."

Cersei looked at him for a long moment and then looked back to Varys. "I should have both your heads off," she snarled. Joffrey suddenly looked interested in the proceedings again. "You think Catelyn Stark would take Tyrion hostage without good reason? You think this mummer's farce you two are playing can fool me? I want the truth!" The last word was a shout and rang through the small council chamber.

"The truth, Your Grace," began Baelish, talking calmly. "The truth is that Catelyn Stark is unbalanced. All the Tullys are a bit touched. You remember Lysa Arryn? Her sister is of the same blood and temperament. Catelyn's son was attacked, she was wounded, according to what we have heard. A mother would do anything to protect her children, Your Grace, as I am sure you know. When she saw her husband perhaps he planted the notion of Lord Tyrion's guilt in her mind. With a mind that distraught it would only take a few whispered words to make her believe it. She was always very trusting of people, to a fault. Her husband more than anyone I am sure." As they trusted you, Varys thought, before you betrayed Ned. Did you do it for the love of a girl you could never have?

Now Cersei spoke and she surprised Varys. "As he lay on his sick bed with his broken leg Stark told Robert and me that he commanded Catelyn to seize Tyrion. Commanded his wife to lay hands on my blood!"

Varys almost groaned and wondered who was really being accused here. And Cersei had no love for Tyrion. Varys knew she secretly wished he had died in the Vale.

Baelish seized on her comment. "Done as a prelude to his attempt to take the Iron Throne, no doubt."

At these words Joffrey came to life. "All Starks are traitors!"

Now Slynt spoke for the first time, eagerly supporting Joffrey's notion. "They are a foul bunch indeed, these Starks."

"Yes," said Pycelle, taking up the cause. "Accusing Lord Tyrion was all part of a Stark plot to bring on war so the Starks could remove Your Grace from the throne and take it for themselves. Luckily we foiled that plot."

Varys said nothing and wondered if they had all gone mad. Stark did not want the throne. He had just wanted to protect Robert, and then when he realized Robert was beyond saving, he just wanted to go home. If they even looked at the sequence of events from a point of logic they would see right through Baelish. But people who feared their enemies never really used logic much. Pycelle was a sycophant and that would not change. Slynt was trying to recover some of his esteem lost during the riots. And Joffrey…he was a different matter, but what he was thinking Varys did not know yet.

Cersei shook her head in disgust. "This is getting us nowhere." She looked at Baelish. "I think we have no choice but to hold you for a trial, Lord Baelish, since you won't confess your crimes and I know not if you planted the idea that Tyrion owned that dagger in the Stark's minds or not. It seems we must await my brother's return to the capital to find the truth of these accusations about a dagger."

"There is another way," Joffrey said, with a look on his face Varys did not like.

Cersei hesitated, then looked to her son. "Yes?"

Joffrey grinned. "I've heard there are torture chambers in the bowels of the castle. Let's let Lord Baelish visit them for a while. Then we will have the truth."

Cersei looked like she almost was about to agree and Varys could not have that. Oh, truths they would have from Petyr, too many for Varys own safety. "Your Grace," Varys spoke up. "The truth one gets from prisoners in pain is often the truth the inquisitors want to hear, not the real truth."

"Quite so," said Pycelle and Varys almost died from shock. Pycelle going against the King! A first, to be sure.

Joffrey looked angry and that was always dangerous, but then he just scoffed. "I care not. I don't see why we are still endlessly discussing what happened to a traitor's brat."

Cersei sighed. "We must discuss it, my son, because we need to know if we have another traitor in our midst." She looked back to Baelish. "You will be confined to your quarters until such a time as a trial can be arranged."

"Your Grace, I look forward to a trial to prove my innocence," Baelish said, and Varys detected a hint of relief in his tone. "Meanwhile, who will be master of coin? I will gladly show them the ins and outs of managing and balancing the kingdom's books."

Cersei had a look of indecision on her face, and Varys knew that she had not thought his far ahead. With the realm at war, how could she have not? "Who do you suggest?" the Queen asked Baelish.

Much as he hated to do it Varys knew he had to say something again or they would surely all fall into ruin, and Stannis and Renly would win and they would all be soon dead. "I think Lord Baelish can resume his duties, from the confines of his quarters, of course. We should not trust the realm's finances at so precarious a time to any other."

"Fine," the Queen said grudgingly as she looked to Baelish. "You will resume your duties, from the confines of your quarters. And not one of your whore houses. You will stay here in the Red Keep. You will have access to your books and whoever you need to help you. I think there is no need to say that if anything goes amiss with the realm's finances while you are awaiting trial it will not go well for you."

"I am sure I am up to the job, Your Grace," Baelish said and then with a flick of her hand the two gold cloaks took Baelish from the room.

"He's a traitor," Joffrey said as soon as Baelish was gone. "He's a liar and a traitor. We should torture him. He started all this. He told the Stark's it was my uncle. Why else would they accuse him of something he did not do? He lied to us!" Maybe Joffrey was not as stupid as Varys thought. Or maybe he knew something else. Maybe he knew who really paid someone to attack the Stark boy.

"Perhaps," said Cersei. "But for now Littlefinger has his uses. And we can always torture the truth out of him later. Now, my lords, I believe we have other matters to discuss."

She looked to Varys and Varys spoke directly to Joffrey. "Wonderful news from across the Narrow Sea, Your Grace. Khal Drogo is dead."

Joffrey smiled broadly and pounded his fist on the table. "Good! How did he die? I hope it was bloody and painful!"

"The details I know not," said Varys. "But once he died, most of his people abandoned his wife and close supporters. The Dothraki are now in turmoil, and several leaders have emerged to challenge for Khal Drogo's place. We have naught to fear of the Dothraki for some time to come."

"What of the Targaryen girl, his wife?" asked Pycelle immediately.

"There is no word," Varys replied. "According to Dothraki tradition when her husband died she was to go back to their capital and go into mourning for the rest of her life with the other women who have lost their horse lord husbands. But she is not Dothraki, and I doubt she would submit to such a life."

"Endeavor to find out as much as you can, Lord Varys," the Queen commanded and he dipped his head in acknowledgement. Baelish was right; she did still need him. "Now the war, my lords," Cersei said and turned to Slynt. "How are the city defenses?"

"Growing stronger, Your Grace," he replied. "I have almost six thousand men in service now, but the quality is not the best. Many are young men who are in need of coin and food, but have had little training. I fear they will not be much use when battle comes. We have many catapults and other siege weapons and plenty of arrows and other weapons. What we lack are trained men to wield them. We have a smattering of knights and some few hundred of your remaining household guards, but it is not enough to make a difference. "

"My father's army will be here soon," Cersei told them. "He is preparing to sign a peace treaty with Robb Stark. Where is Renly's army now?"

"But twenty leagues distance," said Varys. "Two or three day's swift march and he will be at the gates. However, our scouts report he has not moved for two days now. Something seems to have arrested his movement."

"That is good," said Pycelle. "Perhaps Lord Tywin can crush him without the city coming under siege."

"Let him come!" Joffrey snarled. "I would gladly face him or Stannis in single combat!"

Cersei smiled, a thin smile, without warmth. "Yes, that would settle matters rather quickly." She turned back to Varys. "And Stannis? What news of him?"

"Still on Dragonstone, according to the latest reports. But Your Grace, these reports are almost four days old."

Her eyes flashed. "So he could be sailing up the Blackwater as we speak?" she snapped.

"No, Your Grace," Slynt said. "We have many small boats on Blackwater Bay. They will raise the alarm if Stannis' fleet approaches."

"And what of our fleet?" Joffrey asked. "Where is it now?"

"At anchor in the Blackwater Rush," said Varys. "Awaiting battle that will surely come. We will be outnumbered, but the captains feel the best strategy is to draw Stannis up the Blackwater Rush and destroy his fleet piecemeal."

"What if they don't do it?" Cersei asked. "What if they land below the Red Keep and storm one of the gates on foot?"

"All of the gates are prepared for battle, Your Grace," Slynt told her. "Plenty of oil, rocks, and arrows are there. We just need more men."

"Yes, you keep saying that, and…" Then a man entered, one of Pycelle assistants, and he hurriedly apologized for intruding and brought Pycelle a small raven scroll. Pycelle thank his man and then unrolled it.

"From your father," he said to the Queen. "Gregor Clegane and two thousand men are riding to the city now."

"That is a beginning," said Cersei and the flicker of a smile played across her fine features. "And the rest of the army?"

"No word, Your Grace," Pycelle told her. "Your father also mentions that Lord Tyrion is leaving Harrenhal soon to take up his duties as Hand of the King."

Joffrey scoffed as Pycelle handed the letter to Cersei. "Two thousand men and a dwarf? What good is that? I commanded my grandfather to bring his whole army here!"

"Ser Gregor is a fearsome warrior, Your Grace," Slynt said. "He and his men will be most welcome."

"Perhaps Lord Tyrion will have more news of Lord Tywin's plans when he arrives," Pycelle added.

"Perhaps," said Cersei as she finished reading the letter. "Well, at least we will have some more information about Baelish and the dagger soon enough. That is all my lords. Please see to your duties. We will meet again the same time on the morrow."

They all made their goodbyes and soon Varys was back in his quarters and had a nice long drink of lemon water before reading the reports that were soon coming to him.

More about food shortages, something Cersei avoiding talking about at the meeting. Of course, there were no food shortages in the Red Keep. The mass of small folk outside the city walls was growing smaller. That was a first. Some had died, he knew, from starvation. Other had left, going back to their farms as they began to hear rumors peace had come to the Riverlands. Rumors Varys men had helped spread in the camps. Others fled in fear, as Varys men spread more rumors about Renly and Stannis' approach. Well, those were not exactly rumors.

A few hours later as Varys supped alone, one of his little birds came to him and told him Baelish was in his quarters and had an endless stream of visitors. Most were men, some women, and all stayed a short time and then left. What they discussed, the little bird did not know as he could not get close enough. Varys paid the little bird and then sat back and thought on it. Baelish giving orders to his people. For his many business ventures of course. And for whatever else he was up to.

It still galled Varys that Baelish had out maneuvered him at his own game. It might be time to put on a more concerted effort to uncover what Littlefinger was really up to. As Varys thought on this there was a sudden knock on his door and one of his paid guards with the gold cloaks entered.

"My lord," the man began with a short bow. "Your man from the south is outside the Mud Gate. Wants a word. The usual place he said."

"Very well," Varys answered. "Tell him one hour."

Thirty minutes later Varys left the Red Keep through one of its many secret tunnels, in one of his many disguises, this time as a fisherman, as he would be mingling with such. His clothes were rough, made of wool and seal skins, his boots made of whale skin, a dagger on his belt with a whale's tooth handle. He smelled of brine and fish guts. His face was covered in a coarse black beard, his bald head covered with a fisherman's sealskin hat.

The meeting place was a tavern by the wharves near the Mud Gate and the man had already taken a corner table in a dark recess of the place. As Varys sat he ordered ale from the tavern wench and settled down to talk. The place was full and noisy and no one would overhear them. The man opposite him was dressed as a fisherman as well, and had a dark complexion, a black mustache, thick black hair and bushy eyebrows. He would be seen as a Dornishman by many, but Varys knew he was from the Reach.

"How are things in the south?" Varys asked as he drank the weak ale and forced himself not to make a face at its disgusting taste.

"Renly's army is taking a leisurely stroll up the Roseroad, as you know by now," the man said in a low voice.

"He has been stopped for the last two days."

"Quite so," said the man. "He fears his brother will bugger him from behind, not that he would mind that too much."

Varys ignored the jape and raised his eyebrows. "Oh? The last I heard Stannis is still on Dragonstone."

"He sailed many days ago with more than half his ships if the count is right."

Varys nodded and held his surprise in check. "And you know this how?"

"It so happens I was on guard duty outside a holdfast where Renly was spending the night when a rider came up to the gates and shouted to the king that his brother Stannis was sailing to Storm's End. They had a raven from Tarth. The next day Stannis' fleet arrived at Storm's End and put a strong force ashore. Not as many as Renly has, but enough to start a siege. Renly and the horse went to stop him. The foot stayed on the Roseroad and is waiting on events."

"How many horse? How many foot?"

"Maybe ten thousand horse, more than enough to deal with what Stannis put ashore if the reports are true. Foot, maybe sixty thousand, or more."

"Quite an assemblage," Varys said. They talked more on minor details and then a bag of silver was passed under the table and the man said he would head south as soon as he could.

Varys knew this news could not wait and when he was clean and refreshed and in his sky blue robes he went to Cersei's quarters. Her two guards outside her doors stopped him.

"The Queen is resting," one Lannister man said.

"I have news she must hear."

He hesitated. They both knew who he was, and then the other one nodded and knocked. Varys swore he heard the sound of female laughter. From Cersei?

The door opened a bit and Lancel Lannister was there. "The Queen wishes not to be…Lord Varys?"

"Yes, Lancel. How are you this fine evening?"

Before he could answer Cersei shouted in a cross tone "Who is it?"

"Lord Varys," Lancel said, his face betraying plenty of guilt. Oh, I already know, Varys said to himself, no need to look so guilty. I know you have been fucking her, even before Robert died. I know you gave him the strong wine that helped kill him.

"Send him in," Cersei said. She knew Varys would not disturb her without good reason.

He entered her chambers and saw he interrupted a small party. There was a platter of wine and cheese and bread and fruit on a small table, next to a flagon of wine. A wood harp was on a seat and Cersei had a cup of wine in hand and already seemed tipsy.

"Lord Varys!" she said in a loud voice from where she sat on a plush chair. "Wine?"

"I must decline, Your Grace. I bring tidings of the war."

She suddenly seemed more sober. "Lancel, my dear cousin, thank you for your help in that small matter. I shall call on you soon."

Lancel looked like he wanted to protest and then he just bowed slightly. "Yes, Your Grace. Good night."

After he left, Cersei drank some more and then stared at Varys. "Well, what is it?"

"Stannis has sailed for Storm's End."

"When?" she asked in an instant, on her feet, her eyes on fire.

"Many days ago, apparently. He has already arrived and landed a force outside the castle. Renly has split his force in two, taking almost all his cavalry to meet him. The foot remains on the Roseroad."

"Gods!" she exulted and drank her wine in one gulp and quickly poured another cup as she spoke to him. "Lord Varys, if you were a man I would kiss you and bed you this instant."

"That would be quite difficult to accomplish, Your Grace."

"Quite," she said with a knowing smile. "They are fighting each other! Oh, this is too good to be true." Then she looked at him in suspicion. "Who told you this?"

"A well paid spy, who has worked for me for many years. I trust him."

"Good," she said. "But we must confirm it. How?"

"Our scouts should get as close as they can to the infantry on the Roseroad. If they see no large mass of cavalry I think that should confirm it."

"I will give the orders at once. You go to Pycelle. Tell him the news. Send my father a raven. This is the opportunity we have been waiting for. They are fighting each other. Renly is divided. Now he must come! He must strike!"

"Yes, Your Grace. At once. Shall I tell the King?"

She laughed and drank some more. "The King? My son, the great warrior going to face Renly and Stannis in single combat? Perhaps then we'll see if he is really his father's son or not."

Did she mean Robert or Jaime? They were both great warriors. She looked at Varys, looked at him closely as if she knew what he was thinking.

"Sit," she said suddenly and it was not an invitation but a command.

Varys sat and she sat opposite him on the plush, wide chair, pulling her legs up under her as her silken skirts wrapped around her legs.

Cersei looked at him carefully. "You know the rumors Stannis is spreading?"

"Yes, Your Grace. I would not be much good to you if I did not know of such lies."

She smiled slightly. "And what do the small folk say? Do they think Stannis lies as well?"

"No, Your Grace. They are willing to believe anything about the high born that make them look weak or foolish."

She bristled at that. "They are all idiots anyway. But Ned Stark believed it."

"I know."

"Why did he believe it?"

"He read the history of House Baratheon. All children in the male line are black haired and blue eyed for many generations. And he saw Robert's bastard son, who looks very much like Robert. Jon Arryn and Stannis saw him as well. They are all intelligent men. It did not take them long to come to the conclusion that your children are not Robert's."

She merely snorted. "A conclusion that serves their own ends for usurping Joffrey."

"Yes."

Cersei sighed, looked at her wine glass, drank a little. "Joffrey has heard. He has asked me. Of course I told him it was all lies."

"Of course." Why was she talking to me about all this? Varys thought. Is she about to confess what I've known for years to be true? No, that was not to be.

Cersei drank again and smiled. "Soon Jaime will be free. Then he and Father will crush Stannis and Renly. It is time we ended all this nonsense and send the Baratheon brothers to join Robert in the grave." She then nodded to the door. "See to the letter to my father."

It was a dismissal and Varys stood, bowed, and left. As he walked he wondered if it would all turn out as she expected. Would her father come as fast as she hoped? Would Renly defeat Stannis or the would the opposite occur? And who would join poor Robert in the cold ground? Whatever happened, Varys had to make sure it was not him or all the plans laid so many years ago would come to nothing, and the true king of the Seven Kingdoms would not stand a chance of taking back his family's throne.


	17. Chapter 17 Eddard

**Ned Stark Lives! Chapter 17 Eddard**

Ned Stark awoke in his room he shared with his daughter Arya when he heard the Harrenhal rooster crowing the dawn. He lay still for a long time, wishing he was home in Winterfell, wishing Cat was here with him, wishing he had never listened to Robert in the first place and had told him 'no' when he asked him to be Hand of the King. His whole family had been torn apart and now through the grace of the gods he had slowly pulled them back together. But he knew it was not over yet. The new few days would be crucial. The exchange for the Kingslayer would take place soon, and that would be a moment of extreme danger. Many a knight and lord had been waylaid into a trap during a hostage exchange. As Ned lay there thinking on how to avoid such a trap, he heard a soft noise of a foot scraping on the floor and in an instant he was sitting up, his eyes looking for the intruder.

But in the dim dawn light coming through the small window he saw it was only Arya, standing by the now cold fireplace, with Needle in her hand, practicing.

"Morning, Father," she said as she bent low, and did a small nimble side step, and got up, very fast, jabbing Needle in front of her.

"Morning. Did you sleep?" he asked her in a groggy voice.

"Of course," she answered. "I slept very well. But Syrio says a body needs to practice as well as to sleep, so I am practicing. Every morning."

Ned smiled. Ah, Arya, my child, you have a wildness in you. Like all fathers he wanted his daughters to grow to be beautiful and marry good men and have plenty of grandchildren for him to dote on in his old age. Two lovely daughters he did have, and he thanked the gods for that. But they were night and day, and were a handful to be sure, fighting each other like cat and dog for many years. But that would pass as they grew older, he hoped. At the same time he feared that what the two of them had been through because of his stupidity would mark them for life.

Sansa had stars in her eyes when she had come to King's Landing, and now she knew many hard truths about the world. Knights were not all heroes, kings and queens were liars, and many people wanted to use and abuse each other for their own ends. She had been floating on air, thinking she would marry Joffrey and someday become the Queen. It was like a dream come true for her, like a story from one of the books she loved. But now it was all over, and she had awoken from her dream into the real world. She was almost a woman, and Ned would have to start thinking about a match for her. A northern boy, to be sure, someone's strong, honorable son. Ned would not let her wed otherwise.

Arya was a different case altogether. Here she stood, dressed like a boy, practicing how to kill people with a sword. If she had any stars in her eyes at all they had fallen on the Kingsroad when her friend had been killed and she had to drive her direwolf away. She was full of anger after that, and bitterness, and it was terrible to see in his ten year old daughter. And then all that had happened since had made her harder. This little girl of his had been forced to kill people and that angered Ned to his very core. He blamed himself, of course, but others he blamed as well, and they were all Lannisters. He just hoped she did not become too hardened toward the world that she could forget she was still a little girl.

Aye, maybe not so little. She had been reluctant to admit it, but she had a liking for Gendry. Ned knew that would be trouble to come, trouble he did not want to deal with. Hopefully, it was just a passing fancy. Gods, she was only a girl. Or was she? Ned knew not how young girls thought. He knew Sansa had been in love since she was small with every hero she had read about. He saw how she looked at Joffrey in the beginning and how she so badly wanted to marry him. Arya had never talked about boys, not that he knew of, and she had never cared much for the books Sansa loved. Her heroes had all been warrior women, especially Aegon's two sisters who had ridden the dragons with him against this very castle. She had also pestered Ned endlessly for stories about her dead aunt, who many said she was like in character. Ah, if only Lyanna could have lived to know Arya. Ned knew they would have become fast friends for life.

At Winterfell, Arya had been Arya Underfoot, always in the kitchens, or the stables, or the forge, or the brewery, asking questions, learning about this and that, wanting to know everything about the castle and how it worked. Was it any surprise she had eyes for Robert's son, a blacksmith? He was tall and handsome to be sure, and had strength. And they had been through so much together in the past weeks. Gods, Ned thought, it was going to be trouble. Trouble from Cat, above all. Maybe he should just talk to Gendry and tell him to stay here. Maybe he didn't feel the same way about Arya as she did him. Maybe Gendry didn't know Arya had a strong liking for him. Arya had not said anything about that. Ned would have to find out.

He stood and stretched his arms. Ned tested his injured leg by placing all his weight on it and found it stronger than ever. Riding had been difficult but the maester had been wrong; it did not do any more harm. Arya was watching him, standing very still.

"Is it healed?" she asked, worry on her face.

"Aye, I believe so."

"That's good."

"Aye. Right, off to wake up your sister and Jeyne and then…"

"Breakfast," she said with a grin. "I'll get it, I know the cooks, and Hot Pie will give us the best bread, and..."

She was all full of energy, ready to run out the door. "Slow down. I'm sure Lord Tywin has already made sure we will get our breakfast here."

She looked a little down at the mouth. "But I like the kitchens. I always get breakfast with Gendry and we meet Hot Pie and then we eat with the other smiths."

"Not today," he told. "Today you will have breakfast with us."

He thought she would protest but didn't. "Okay. But after I promised Gendry I'd help him. "

Ned nodded. "That's fine. Now go wake the others."

Thirty minutes later breakfast had been delivered and all four of them sat in Ned and Arya's room as they ate breakfast at a small table. Sansa and Jeyne were still half asleep. Sansa was nibbling on some bread and jam, and Jeyne was peeling an apple while Arya was wolfing down a bowl of porridge as fast as she could.

"Slow down," Ned said to her. "You'll get an upset stomach."

"I told you I promised Gendry to help him today," she said between spoonfuls and then Sansa and Jeyne giggled.

"Can I come, too?" Jeyne asked playfully.

"No!" Arya said right away and then cast her eyes down as her father glared at her.

"Be more polite, young lady. Of course, Jeyne can come with you if she wants."

"That's okay," Sansa said in a slight teasing tone. "We planned to go to Lady Whent's library today to find something to read for the journey home. We'll leave Arya alone with her boyfriend."

Arya glared at her sister. "He's just my friend!"

"Stop it, now!" Ned told them in an angry tone. "You two know better than that. We are not home yet and I will not have this war you left in King's Landing continue here."

"She started it," Arya said.

"I did not!" Sansa shot back.

"Yes, you did," Ned Stark told his oldest daughter. "Gendry is Arya's friend, leave it at that."

"Yes, Father," Sansa replied, a bit abashed.

"I think he's handsome," Jeyne said in a dreamy voice.

"Oh, please, he's just a smith," Sansa told her friend.

"He is not!" Arya almost shouted. "He's more. He's…oh, you wouldn't understand! We fought, at the holdfast, at the village. We almost died! He's the son of…oh, never mind, you don't care, you just think he's a stupid smith."

Ned was about to speak but Sansa did first. She was looking at her sister, and there seemed to be a softening of Sansa's eyes and she apologized, to Ned's surprise. That had rarely happened before without him forcing them to apologize.. "I'm sorry. Yes, you are right. He helped you. But…whose son is he?"

Ned looked at Arya in puzzlement. "You didn't tell them?"

"Tell us what?" asked Jeyne.

He raised his eyebrows to Arya. "Shall you or I?"

Arya smiled, nodded, and turned to her sister and Jeyne. "Gendry is King Robert's son."

They were too shocked to speak for a moment. "That can't be true," said Sansa looking from Arya to her father.

"It is," he said. "You saw him. He looks just like Robert. Well, maybe a bit thinner."

"He's the bastard the gold cloaks wanted?" Jeyne asked and Arya growled.

"Do not call him that!"

"Arya, be calm," Ned admonished her. "Jeyne means nothing by it. It's just a word we use."

"I don't like it," Arya told him.

"Aye, I don't either. But there it is. Okay, off you go to the armory."

Arya smiled and got up and was about to leave, but then she turned and gave a small bow to her sister and Jeyne. "Have a nice day," she said and then they said the same and soon Arya was gone. Ned grinned slightly. That was a little better than in the past.

"Oh, Father, he can't be, can he?" Sansa asked again as soon as Arya was gone.

"It's true. He's the son of Robert Baratheon."

"Why does Joffrey want him dead?" Jeyne asked.

"Joffrey wants no pretenders to his throne, including any of his supposed father's by-blows."

"Supposed father?" Sansa asked in puzzlement.

Ned sighed and then quietly told them everything and that they had to keep their mouths shut about it, especially around Tywin Lannister and his granddaughter. Sansa was horrified.

"I almost married…a bastard…born of incest!" she said, the last part in a whisper.

"Aye," said Ned wearily. "Sorry, my child. I did not know it at the time. Robert died without knowing it."

"Then who is the true heir?" Jeyne asked, a look of confusion on her face. "Not Gendry!"

Sansa rolled her eyes. "Of course not! Bastards can't inherit."

"Aye. Stannis Baratheon is the rightful king," Ned told them and then they talked a bit about that, and how they had to be careful and not talk about this except among themselves while still at Harrenhal. Ned expected to be leaving tomorrow and he did not want them to do anything to upset the Lannisters.

As they finished up their breakfast Ned looked at Jeyne. "I am sorry your father died. He was a good man."

She sniffed. "Thank you, my lord."

"You are now my ward. I will look after you."

"Yes, I understand. Thank you."

"How old are you, Jeyne?" he asked next.

"She's thirteen soon," Sansa said. "Same as me."

"When you are a woman I will make you a match with a nice lad in Winterfell," Ned told Jeyne. "Would you like that?"

She nodded. "Yes, my lord."

"She's already a woman," Sansa blurted out and Jeyne's face turned red.

"Sansa!"

"It's true!"

Ned felt awkward talking about this. "Aye? So…"

And then thankfully there was a knock on his door and Lord Tywin's son the Imp was there.

"Good morning, Lord Stark, ladies," said Tyrion Lannister. "I have come to make my goodbyes."

"Off to King's Landing finally?" Ned asked, the Imp the last person he wanted to see but thankful for the interruption nevertheless.

"Indeed. In an hour. I hope I am not intruding too much. Might I have a word?"

"Aye," Ned said and looked at Sansa and Jeyne. "Off you go to the library. And don't get lost. Back here at midday."

"Yes, Father," Sansa said.

"Yes, my lord," Jeyne replied. They both gave short bows to Tyrion and then left, giggling as they went down the stairs, probably talking about the Imp behind his back. Then the door closed and Ned was alone with Tyrion Lannister. Unlike the last time this had happened he had no desire to kill him now. Well, not as much of a desire, that is.

"Sit." Ned told him and Tyrion sat where Arya had sat earlier. "Sorry, I don't drink wine with breakfast. Some ale left in the jug I think."

"No, thank you, I've had my morning fill already," Tyrion replied. "Have you completed the letter?"

"Aye," Ned said and then he stood and retrieved a letter from the small table between his and Arya's beds. "I have no sigil stamp to seal it with. Mine was left behind at King's Landing."

"I think that matters not," Tyrion replied. "My sister will most likely only tear up the letter anyway. According to you she rather enjoys shredding important documents."

"Aye," Ned replied as he looked at the letter, which was an account of all that happened at King's Landing concerning Baelish and his accusation that Tyrion owned the dagger used to try to kill Bran.

Tyrion handed him a square piece of grayish wax. "This is the closest the maester had to Winterfell grey."

"It will do," Ned said and then he lit a candle, melted some of the wax in its flame and dripped it on the letter, sealing it.

The letter was set on the table before the Imp as Ned sat again. "When you get there make sure Baelish pays for his meddling."

Tyrion smiled. "Oh, Littlefinger will know what it costs to cross me, don't worry about that. I still have nightmares about the sky cell I was in."

"You have my wife's apology for that."

"Quite," Tyrion said and then Ned thought he would go on about it but instead he looked worried. "I need to talk with you about the Baratheon brothers."

"Aye? Well, talk."

"Who would be more likely to accept terms of surrender?"

That puzzled Ned. "Who's surrender?"

Tyrion grinned. "Why, mine of course. And King's Landing, also."

The Imp was worried about the fire he was going into. "Why are you asking me this? Don't you trust your father to defeat them both?"

"Why of course," he replied with heavy sarcasm. "Like he defeated your son. Like Jaime defeated your son."

"Robb was an unknown," Ned told him. "He was bold, he surprised them. Your father knows Renly and Stannis. He will not make the same mistakes again."

"That is what worries me. He is going to be too cautious. His caution may allow King's Landing to fall before he can get there. Hence, my question."

"Renly," Ned said without any need to think about it. "He actually likes you, he told me once. Said you are always good for a laugh or two. Stannis doesn't laugh. He will put all your heads on spikes."

"For certain."

"You knew this already. Why did you ask?"

"I suspected that would be your answer, but I was hoping you might tell me of some chink in Stannis' amour that would break open his steely heart just a tiny bit."

"And if that were possible?"

"Before the gates fell and the city bled I would ask him for quarter. My father would ransom myself and Cersei handsomely."

"But not Joffrey or Tommen?"

Tyrion shook his head. "Stannis would never allow them to escape. I have suggested to father that they all flee west before the vise closes on them but he refused to entertain such notions. A king who flees in time of war is not a king, he said."

"Aye, that is true," Ned agreed. "But we both know Joffrey is not the true king."

Tyrion sighed heavily. "My father remains unconvinced. You and I, however, know the truth. Cersei told you as much when you confronted her, did she not?"

"She did."

"Jaime said the same when I confronted him at Riverrun."

Ned snorted and shook his head in disgust. "Finally some small truths from you Lannisters. Did he tell you how it ever started?"

"No, he did not and I know not. It just did. Being twins might have had something to do with it. Or maybe the gods are mocking my father for placing himself on so high a pedestal."

Now Ned wanted to know the truth about Bran. "My son, did…"

"Oh, Stark, leave it be," the Imp interrupted impatiently as he stood again. "I know nothing of that and if I did do you really think I would cast blame on my siblings?"

"No, you wouldn't. Because you have shit for honor like your brother."

Tyrion laughed at this. "Honor is not a word most people use when talking about me, I give you that. I am certainly not a heroic knight of the realm, not that they are any paradigms of virtue. If I survive this war and if your friend Renly wins I am sure he will give me to your wife to put on the rack or burn my toes till I scream. Her apology notwithstanding, she still thinks I know something. Then you will get some truths from me, although a tortured man is hardly expected to say no to any question after a while. If Stannis wins and I somehow manage to persuade him I am worth more alive than dead, I am sure he will do the torturing himself. And if my father wins, well…then you shall have me on trial, according to our treaty. So either way, you will find out eventually."

"Or you could just tell me all you know right now."

Tyrion shook his head. "No, that would not do. Besides I know nothing. Now, wish me luck. I am off to do a job most of my predecessors failed at, including you."

Ned just stared at him. "Don't let the city fall, Tyrion."

Tyrion looked at him in surprise. "Why I believe that is the first time you have ever used my proper name to address me."

Ned ignored the sally. "The people of King's Landing did not start this war. Don't let them suffer for your family's stupidity and cruelty. If Renly offers terms, take them."

"And Stannis?"

Ned snorted. "He might offer one term. Unconditional surrender. And then…"

"Spikes, heads, walls, yes, I know that song. Well, goodbye Ned Stark. I might never see you again."

"I have a feeling someone like you will survive this mess no matter what."

Tyrion raised his eyebrows. "Really? Well, I hope I don't disappoint you. Farewell."

The Imp stuck his hand out and Ned was going to ignore it for a moment and then he just quickly shook it and then the Imp was gone, Ned's letter in hand. After he left Ned sat and thought on what they discussed. The Imp feared what would happen in the south and he was right to be afraid. War was coming to King's Landing and he was walking towards it.

And now for the hard part of the day, Ned thought, as he sat on the bed and pulled on his boots. First, Lord Tywin Lannister. Ned found him in Lady Whent's solar on the floor above Ned's room. After their usual cold formal greetings Ned sat opposite him and accepted a cup of wine. They began to discuss the final terms of the peace treaty. Some of the points had already been completed. Ned had already been given Ice and apparently the silent sisters were already trying to gather the remains of his people killed in King's Landing and hopefully they would soon be on the way north to their final resting place. As they came to the point about the northern and Riverlands lords swearing fealty to Joffrey, Ned almost grinned as he recalled the scene at Riverrun.

The lords as one had refused to take their oath before the Kingslayer so it was left to Tyrion to do the unpleasant task. He stood on the raised platform as the lords of the north and those bannermen sworn to Riverrun assembled before him. The Kingslayer was off to one side, still in chains, as witness to the oath. Ned could feel the hatred in the room and more than one man would have gladly killed Tyrion and his brother. They were going to bend the knee and they were loathed to do so. Anything might happen. Then Tyrion pulled a clever ploy and Ned afterwards grudgingly admired him for it.

"My lords," Tyrion had begun. "We are here for an unpleasant duty. I think it sufficient that only Lord Robb Stark and Ser Edmure Tully, representing his ailing father, need swear the oath as they are your lords paramount."

That brought a lot of grumbling and Ned could see the surprise on many faces and also the mistrust that this was some Lannister trick. But Ned instantly knew what the Imp was up to. He was testing their honor and loyalty to their overlords while at the same time avoiding an unpleasant task, dealing with a reluctant group of men who might have to be forced to their knees. The Greatjon Umber shouted above the din and Ned knew the Imp had won this little battle of wills.

"I will not stand here and let my lord shame himself by bending the knee alone, Imp!" he shouted and then he dropped to one knee. "Say your damn words and let us be done!"

Then one by one the others lords dropped to one knee and finally Robb and Edmure did the same at the front of the great hall in front of all their men. Ned could see the smirk on the Kingslayer's face and all it would take would be one comment from him to ruin it all. But he wisely held his tongue and perhaps Tyrion had warned him to be silent. Ned stood next to Robb and then awkwardly got down on bended knee and then the Imp spoke.

"My lords, do you swear before the old gods and the new to honor and obey the King of the Seven Kingdoms, Joffrey Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm?"

There was total silence as the Imp had finished. Ned had thought there would be more to it, words about how they could not take up arms against Joffrey or had to support him in his wars and such. But after a few seconds when no one had said a word, the Imp spoke again.

"A simple yes or no will do, my lords."

Again no one said anything and then finally Ned realized no one wanted to be the first. So it had to be him.

"Aye," he said in a loud strong voice.

"Aye," said his son and then Edmure followed quickly and after that it was like one great roar. "AYE!"

"I think that will do," said Tyrion said in a satisfied tone. "Welcome back into the fold of the realm my lords. I think a cup of strong wine to seal the oath would make it more fitting."

Then the doors to the hall opened and serving girls and boys entered carrying many cups and flagons on trays and soon wine was being poured and men were drinking. They were mainly silent, many feeling the sting of their hurt pride for saying that simple word 'aye' but after a while they were feeling better and soon many began to hope that perhaps the war was really over for them and their people.

After the Kingslayer was taken back to his cell, Ned approached the Imp. "Well played."

"Yes, I thought so," Tyrion said with a slight grin. He cast his mismatched eyes about. "I thought your wife would be here."

"Her father is slipping away fast," Ned told him. "He may have only a few days left."

"A terrible loss," Tyrion said solemnly. "I am sure you would like to stay to comfort her, but it is time for us to return to Harrenhal."

"Aye," Ned answered reluctantly. He had wanted to stay and be with her but she had understood and knew he was doing it all to save their daughters so with a heavy heart he bid her goodbye once more.

Ned came out of his reminiscing as Tywin spoke again. "This last item," Tywin began, holding a scroll of parchment with the terms on it in his hand. "It seems a bit late for any such things. I have already agreed to pay the million gold and to request an inquiry into your son's attack. And now you want this?"

"It was a promise I made. A promise that was an oversight during our first negotiations."

"Dondarrion is an outlaw," Tywin told him. "There will be no pardons for him and his men."

Ned snorted. "No more an outlaw than Gregor Clegane, Amory Lorch, or Vargo Hoat."

Tywin grimaced. "Hoat will pay for his men's stupidity in attacking your daughter and the Princess. The last word I have is he is in Maidenpoole awaiting passage to the east. A passage he will never take. But Dondarrion and his band have gone to ground. No one knows where they are. If I agree to this pardon for them, where shall I send the raven requesting they lay down arms and go home?"

"We can send riders to all corners of the Riverlands. I will write messages for each to carry, and you will include papers with your sigil stamped on them, guaranteeing their pardons. Of course, if you wish to delay this any further, I have time. You daughter, and grandchildren and now Tyrion may not have such a luxury. He came to me not an hour ago, Tyrion did. He asked me who would more likely accept terms for the surrender of the city. I told him Renly would. Stannis would kill them all."

Tywin took a deep breath and gritted his teeth. "Perhaps I shouldn't have given him such a task if he going to be a craven and surrender the city without a fight."

"No, he is no craven," Ned told him. "Just a man looking to keep his head on his shoulders while he tries to clean up others' mistakes. I've been there myself so I know how he feels."

Tywin said nothing to this, just peered at the parchment again and then nodded. "Very well. Dondarrion and his men can have their pardon. But if they try to interfere with my march south before they learn of their pardon, I will swat them like the insects they are."

After that they settled on the details of the exchange and agreed that they would set out for the stone bridge tomorrow. A raven was dispatched to Riverrun with the same news and Tywin also sent out five men on horseback under a peace banner with the same news.

By the time they were done, it was nearing the noon hour and Ned decided now was a good a time as any to talk to Gendry, another task he was not looking forward to, but it had to be done before they met his wife. He had to know where things stood. The armory was noisy, the sound of metal being beaten ringing loudly. It was a hot, smoky, dirty, noisy place. Ned had to smile. Just the sort of place Arya liked. Things were happening here, things she could see with her own eyes. That's why she liked it. Ned was the same. He often had men of the castle sup with him at Winterfell, men from different trades, so he could ask and learn as much as he could about anything he was curious about.

Ned found Gendry by a hot forge, pumping the bellows for Lucan, the master smith, who was working on a sword. Arya was no where about, which he was glad for since he wanted to talk to Gendry alone

"Mine if I talk to the lad for a few minutes Lucan?" he asked.

"Of course not, my lord," Lucan replied. "Gendry! Lord Stark wants a word!"

Gendry left the bellows and came out in front. He dipped his head. "My lord."

"Walk with me lad."

They moved away from the noisy armory and off towards where the stables were. Ned said nothing at first and then spoke. "Where's Arya? Said she wanted to help you today."

"She did for a while, my lord. She just went off to wash some of the grime off before we have lunch. She might have gone to the kitchens already to see what's cooking."

"Good," Ned said as they walked a bit more. The place was crowded with soldiers but no one paid them any mind, all being busy preparing to move at any moment. "You like it here?"

"It's not so bad, my lord," he said, then cast his eyes about and spoke in a lower voice. "Except for the Lannisters."

Ned laughed. "Aye, there is that. We'll be leaving tomorrow. To exchange Arya and Sansa and myself for Jaime Lannister."

"That's good to hear, my lord."

"Are you coming with us?"

He could see Gendry was taken aback, as if not expecting this, him asking, as if he had a choice. "Ah…yes, my lord. If you'll still have me."

"Good," Ned said and then walked a bit more. "You'll never be safe here. Joffrey will not forget."

"I guess I will be running all my life."

Ned stopped and stared at him. "No, not in Winterfell. He'll never touch you there."

"Thank you, my lord. For everything."

"Don't thank me yet, lad. We've got something else to talk about."

"Oh?"

"You've met Sansa's friend Jeyne?"

"Yes, my lord. Pretty girl. Talks a bit much."

Ned laughed. "I don't know her that well to say." Then he grew serious. "Poor lass. Hard life she's had recently. She's like you, an orphan. The Lannisters killed her father in King's Landing."

"Sorry to hear that."

"Aye. So…she's without family. She's now my ward. She's now almost thirteen and a woman."

Gendry was staring at him, confused, seeming to think hard, but not reaching any answers. "Ah…my lord?"

"She's taken a fancy to you. Would you like me to make a match between you and her?"

"No," Gendry said instantly, then seemed to realize he was being rude. "Sorry, my lord. I am grateful. But no…I don't think it is right...for me…and maybe for her."

"Why not?"

"I'm low born."

"So is she."

"I'm just a smith."

"A very good smith at that. You will provide a good home for her and any children the gods give you."

"Joffrey still wants to kill me."

"He'll not touch you in Winterfell."

He was casting his eyes about and he was turning a bit red, trying to think of another excuse and Ned finally decided to put him out of his misery. "Arya is promised to another."

Gendry stared at him. "Sorry? My lord?"

"She is promised to a son of Walder Frey. She is betrothed."

His face fell and then he recovered. "That is good, my lord. I should offer her my congratulations."

Ned couldn't help but laugh. "I wouldn't if I were you. She's like to stick you with Needle."

Now he was confused. "I don't understand, my lord."

"Arya hates it. I just told her yesterday. She had no idea. Wants to run away. But she won't."

"Good," he said swiftly. "I mean, it's good she won't run away, my lord."

"Lad, let's speak plainly. I know she likes you."

"She's my friend. I like her too, my lord. She not like most girls."

"Aye, I suppose not. But I think it's more than just liking you as a friend. I think you feel the same about her," Ned told him, not really knowing this, but he could see it in his eyes. "That's why you don't want a match with Jeyne, is it?"

Now he turned really red and he gulped and cast his eyes down. "I…she…I'm sorry, my lord."

At least he didn't deny it. That was good. Ned hated liars more than anything else. Well, maybe except Lannisters and they were all liars anyway. "Arya is too young, lad. She's not yet eleven years old. You're fifteen."

"I know," Gendry said looking down, his face still red. "It's wrong."

"Yes, it is," Ned said sternly, then relaxed his face and his tone. "But in a few years it wouldn't matter. You'd both be of a proper age."

"Yes, it would matter," Gendry said bitterly as he now looked up. "You say she'll be married when she becomes a woman."

"Aye, maybe. Or maybe not. Three or four years is a long time. And winter is coming. A lot can happen."

Now Gendry was looking at him steadily and Ned saw some kind of hope in his eyes. "Yes, my lord."

"My wife will hear about this as soon as we meet her."

"That's not good, is it?"

"No, it's not. Sansa suspects something. Sansa will tell her mother and then she will ask Arya and then she will come after me."

"Maybe I should just stay here," Gendry said quietly, downhearted, and Ned could see that this was killing him and the boy really did have some feelings for Arya.

"No," Ned said strongly. He would not do that to his daughter or to Robert's son. If they were to have any chance at all he would have to fight for them. If the gods decided this should be, then it will be. "You come to Winterfell. You mind your work, and stay out of trouble and whatever you do give no reason for my wife or Sansa or any of my sons to take a dislike to you."

"Yes, my lord." Gendry replied, fighting to keep a smile off his face

"She may change her mind later. Women do that all the time," Ned said next.

"I know."

"You may change yours."

"Could be, my lord."

"Aye. And if you ever lay a hand…"

He looked horror struck. "Never, my lord!"

Ned smiled and clapped him on the back. "Good, lad. Right, back to work with you."

As Gendry walked off back towards the armory, Ned turned to walk back towards Lady Whent's tower. He hadn't taken two steps when Arya ran up and fell in beside him. "Why were you talking to Gendry?" she asked without any greeting at all.

Ned looked at her in surprise. "Where did you come from?"

"The kitchens, but I saw you two walk off. Gendry looked a bit upset about something. What did you say to him?"

He was not going to discuss that with her in the middle of half the Lannister army. "Just asking if he is ready to go to Winterfell is all."

"What did he say?"

"He's ready."

"Good," she said quickly. "I mean, he's a good smith. He'll be able to help Mikken a lot. He'll like Winterfell, you'll see."

"I hope he likes the cold and snow," Ned said with a grin. "Come on, let's find your sister and Jeyne. We'll have lunch and talk about what we must do tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"Aye, we are going to meet your mother and Robb in a few days time. We must start tomorrow."

"Finally," she said with deep sigh and then she hugged him around the waist and he stroked her hair. "Promise me we'll never leave Winterfell again."

"Aye," Ned said. "That's a promise. Come."

The next morning after breakfast Ned, Sansa, Jeyne, Arya, and Gendry went to the stables early to get their horses ready. They were all dressed for travel and had little baggage as they had all lost most of what they owned in King's Landing. Ned had Ice, Arya had Needle, and Gendry had his hammer and bulls head helmet. Sansa and Jeyne had nothing but a few books they took from the library, plus one dress each Ned told them to take from what Lady's Whents people had left behind. The stable master gave Arya and Gendry each a riding palfrey, while Ned kept the horse he had ridden to Riverrun and Sansa and Jeyne got back their horses they had ridden from King's Landing.

Arya was mad because yesterday Hot Pie told her he was staying here in Harrenhal. He had enough of running, he told her, and the castle cook told him Lady Whent would gladly take him in her service once the war was over. Now Hot Pie, Gendry, and Arya stood just outside the stables saying good bye.

"You shouldn't stay," Arya told the baker's boy. "It's safer to come with us."

"Maybe," said Hot Pie, looking and sounding like a boy who had done something bad.

Gendry snorted. "You said there was ghosts here. And now you want to stay?"

"It's warm, and there's food, and a place to sleep, and…sorry," Hot Pie said, his eyes down, not looking at them at all. "I'm just tired. I want to stay."

"Stupid!" Arya said, a bit too loud. "All that's at Winterfell, too. And its safer! You promised my father you would come. You can't break your promise to a lord."

Ned stepped out of the stable. "Arya, the lad made no such promise to me. I made a promise to him. And if he wants to stay, he can stay. That's his choice."

"Fine!" she said to Hot Pie in an angry voice. "Stay. I don't care."

"I'm sorry. My lady," Hot Pie said and then Arya sighed and punched him in the arm. "Be good," she said to him, and then walked away to her horse and Ned could see she was trying to look like she didn't care but she was upset about this turn of events.

Gendry stuck out his big right hand and Hot Pie shook it. "You get tired of this place, you know where we are."

Hot Pie smiled. "Yes. Thanks…for everything." He turned to Ned. "Thank you, my lord. Sorry…"

"There's nothing to be sorry about lad," Ned told him. "You'll be fine here. But you know you can come bake a pie at Winterfell anytime you want."

"Thank you. Goodbye." Then Hot Pie dipped his head once more, turned and walked away and back to the kitchens. Ned really had no idea if he would be fine or not. He had no idea if the Lannisters would give Lady Whent back her castle after all this mess was over. But if the lad wanted to stay he would not force him to come with them.

As Ned turned to fix his saddle he heard his daughters talking. "He's stupid," Arya was saying to Sansa by their horses. "He'd be safer in Winterfell."

"He's just tired of running," Sansa told her sister. "I'm tired, too. But now we're going home, it will be better."

Ned was strapping his sword Ice to his saddle when the Hound appeared at the stables with Princess Myrcella. They all dipped their heads and said "My Princess".

"I've come to say goodbye for now," the little Princess said. "I know we will meet again soon."

"We will," Sansa said to her. Ned suddenly felt bad, forcing this little girl to separate from her family. It was not her fault what had happened. He also knew she might be safer with him. If Stannis took King's Landing, he'd kill her whole family, children and all. Then he had another bad thought. If Stannis wins, and Myrcella is in Winterfell, would Stannis demand Ned hand her over? Each time I do one thing to protect my family something else happens, Ned said to himself, and then put the thought away for the time being.

As the girls started hugging and talking and saying goodbye, Ned nodded to the Hound to move to the left a bit and they stepped away from the little goodbye scene.

"I never had a chance to thank you Clegane, for saving Sansa on the Kingsroad."

"Doing my duty," was all the Hound said in his rough voice.

"Aye," Ned replied. "You have my thanks none the less. Lord Tywin was very tight lipped about the plans concerning the Princess."

The Hound snorted. "She is to be your hostage. Is that not plain enough for you?"

The Hound didn't like this and he doesn't like me, Ned knew. He had had little contact with the Clegane brothers over the years. He knew the story of why they hated each other, and he knew what kind of men they both were. Killers. The Hound had proven that when he killed the butcher's boy with no remorse. But when Sansa had told the story of her journey from King's Landing, she had said Joffrey no longer wanted Clegane to be his shield and was angry with him. She also said she didn't know why, but when she had said that she hadn't look him in the eye and Ned believed she did know but did not want to say.

"Aye, she is to be my hostage and you her shield," Ned said to him. "You were Joffrey's shield for a long time. What happened in King's Landing? Why did Joffrey dismiss you from his service?"

"Best you ask your daughter about that."

"I'm asking you."

The Hound stared at him, his scarred face making his look all the more menacing, even if he had not intended it to be. He then spoke in a lower voice. "Joffrey is a monster. Need I say more?"

Ned clenched his hands tight and gritted his teeth. That bastard laid hands on Sansa. That's why she had lied. That's what the Hound was not saying but trying to make Ned understand. And Ned now thought he understood it all.

"You stopped him?"

The Hound looked at him and then just nodded slightly. Maybe Ned had judged the Hound wrong in some ways. Of course, he knew that one act of mercy from a monster did not change the fact that he was a monster.

"Again, I thank you," Ned told him. "We will wait at the Twins for you and the Princess. My son Robb is to wed one of the Frey girls. They will wed once you arrive, and then we will move north to Winterfell."

"We will come when Lord Tywin gives the word," the Hound told him.

"Good," Ned replied. The man was of few words, and not once had he said 'my lord'. Ned also knew he liked his wine and whores. He had plenty of gold to buy both, after being declared the winner in the joust at the tournament in King's Landing. Having him at Winterfell for years was going to be a burden.

Ned turned back to his little group. "It is time to go."

The Princess made a final tearful goodbye and as she and Clegane turned to leave Sansa stopped the Hound. "Fare you well, Sandor. Again, I thank you for protecting me."

The Hound's hard scarred features softened, just a bit. He nodded once. "My lady." And then he turned away and walked behind the little Princess, an odd pair they were, with her so small and he so big and menacing. Ned looked at Arya and she was staring hard at the retreating Hound, her left hand on Needle, an angry look in her eyes. He would have to talk with her about her hatred for the Hound, soon, if he was going to avoid more trouble at Winterfell.

They assembled inside Harrenhal by the main gate. Lord Tywin Lannister and his personal guard of thirty knights, plus an additional two hundred cavalry outside the gates that would come to the peace treaty signing ceremony. The Lannister herald, an older household knight in Tywin's service, carried the peace banner on a tall staff. Tywin had a few words with the Hound and his granddaughter and then with his brother Kevan before mounting his horse. Ned knew Kevan was going to stay in Harrenhal and would most liking start moving the army south as soon as possible.

The weather stayed nice for their two day journey west to the old stone bridge that was on the Red Fork half way between Riverrun and Harrenhal. Edmure Tully had suggested it for the exchange and right away Ned saw the sense of it. Edmure said the bridge was not much use to anyone, falling into disrepair over the years, and with only a small part of it was sound enough for a few people on foot or one horse to cross at a time. Two minor families, one on each side of the Red Fork, had together built the bridge over a hundred years ago and then fought a feud for decades over who was the rightful owner. One family had wanted it to be free for all to cross and the other had wanted to charge tolls. Despite commands from Riverrun to end their dispute it had festered. Now the bridge was of not much use to anyone, especially not an army. But it would do for what they needed to do. It also had the added advantage of having the Red Fork separating the two parties, which lessened the chance of one side or the other trying to lay any traps.

The first night they made it to the river road just south of the Red Fork and made camp for the night. Ned was given a large tent that he and his daughters and Jeyne could share. No one had cared to make provisions for Gendry, so Arya suggested he sleep in their tent as well, but Gendry had turned red and quickly said he would find a place in one of the wagons pulling their supplies. Arya went with him to make sure no one gave him any trouble.

"What is she, his shield?" Sansa quipped after Arya and Gendry had left. They were sitting on the ground outside their tent around a small fire, trying to stay warm in the evening chill.

"A very small shield for a very big man," Jeyne said and then they giggled.

"Let it be, girls," Ned said to them with a shake of his head. Then Ned decided he needed to talk to Sansa, now, before they reached the exchange point and saw her mother and Robb. "Jeyne, I need have words with my daughter."

Jeyne stood. "Yes, my lord," she said and she went inside the tent.

"What is it?" Sansa asked right away, worried. "I'm just teasing about Arya. I know she likes him but the way she follows him around is funny, don't you think?

"I don't want to talk about Arya. I want to talk about you and what happened in King's Landing. Why did Joffrey dismiss Sandor Clegane?" he asked and she immediately cast her eyes away from him.

"I don't know, I told you."

"Sansa, child. Did Joffrey do something to you?"

"No," she said but her voice caught and then she was crying and he moved to her and wrapped his arms around her. "Tell me what happened."

She sobbed for a few moments before catching her breath. "He…he…told one of his Kingsguard to strike me."

"Gods!" Ned swore in anger. "Which one?" He would kill the man first chance he got.

"Ser Meryn," she sobbed. "He hit me and kicked me when I fell."

Ned felt a rage come over him but held his anger in check. "Ser Meryn," Ned repeated through gritted teeth as he held her close. "On Joffrey's orders?"

She cried again and nodded. "But…Sandor…the Hound…he stopped him. Joffrey was so angry. Then when the Queen told the Hound to be Myrcella's shield Joffrey let him go without a care. At the gates when we left he told the Hound to never come back to King's Landing."

"Tell me what else happened, everything," he asked and now she sobbed even louder.

"It's all my fault," she said between sobs.

"Hush child, you are not to blame for Joffrey's cruelty."

"No," she said with a cry. "It was me…I was the one who told the Queen we were leaving King's Landing. I told her because I wanted to stay…I wanted to marry Joffrey and be Queen some day. I…I'm sorry."

Gods, she was blaming herself all this time for what had happened. "It's not your fault," Ned told her in a soothing voice. "We could not have kept that secret for long anyway."

"But we could have gotten away," she said between sobs. "Maybe all this would never have happened."

"Thinking on maybes and could have beens is not the way to go through life, my daughter," Ned said to her. "No one is to blame for any of this but those who sought to do harm to King Robert and us. And you know who they are."

"Lannisters," said a voice from the darkness and Arya stepped into the circle of light made by the fire, her hands balled in fists and he could see even in the semidarkness she was mad.

Arya sat across from them. "You heard?" Ned asked her. Gods, she had been so quiet they had not noticed her at all.

"All of it," she said. She looked at Sansa. "I'll kill Ser Meryn for you if you want. And Joffrey."

"Stop that talk at once!" Ned said sharply. "We are not free yet. Talk like that will cause nothing but trouble young lady."

"Sorry," Arya said but he knew she wasn't really.

"How…how is Gendry?" Sansa asked, her voice still full of emotion.

"Sleeping under a wagon," Arya told them and Ned knew she didn't like that.

"Just for a few days," he told her. "Come, we have a long way to ride tomorrow. Let's get some rest."

The next day passed uneventfully and then on the morning of the third day they finally approached the bridge. The day started a bit cloudy and threatened to rain but by mid-morning the sun was breaking through the clouds. There, across the river they could see a small camp of tents and horses and wagons with the Stark direwolf flag prominently displayed by a peace banner on the other side of the old broken stone bridge. The Red Fork was running a bit low, there being little rain the last week or so. Ned and the girls had tried to see if Robb or Catelyn were across the river but could not spot them. After they made camp, the Lannister herald met the Stark herald in the middle of the bridge. They talked for some ten minutes or so and the Lannister herald returned.

"The exchange will take place in one hour, my lords," he told Tywin and Ned inside Tywin's tent where they sat alone drinking a cup of wine.

"Good," said Tywin and he dismissed the herald. He turned to Ned. "The horses you came on stay here. Tell your children and the other girl and the smith to gather their belongings and be ready."

"Aye," said Ned and then he looked at Tywin Lannister. "If there is nothing else, I will be going."

"No, there is nothing else," said Tywin. "The bridge in one hour." Ned knew he was being dismissed and left without another word. They hated each other and there was no reason for any long goodbyes.

An hour later they stood on the south side of the ruined bridge. There was only a narrow path of stones still standing on the right side but Ned could now see that Robb's men had taken many planks and had covered some gaps so that the bridge was able to bear more traffic. A small table and two chairs were set there on the planks and the two heralds took the scrolls, quills, ink pots, a container of sand, and two lit candles in holders and placed them on the table.

Behind Ned stood Sansa, Arya, Jeyne and Gendry carrying all they owned. Ice was in its great scabbard and strapped to Ned's back. As they waited Sansa suddenly gasped. "It's Robb!"

"Where?" Arya asked, craning her neck. "Oh! There he is!"

Robb was marching to the center of the bridge in his finest armor and behind him was the Greatjon carrying the Stark banner. Tywin Lannister, dressed in his best armor and cloak approached with one of his knights behind him carrying the Lannister banner.

"Come," Ned told them and they walked out to the bridge and stood behind the man with the banner. At the same time Jamie Lannister approached from the other side, with two Stark guards on either side of him. His chains were off and he looked like he had been bathed and shaved recently. His clothes were even a bit finer than what he had worn in captivity.

It was all Sansa and Arya could do to not shout and run to their brother and Ned had to turn to them and tell them to be patient. And then Arya saw her mother walking toward the end of the bridge on the far bank with her brother Ser Edmure and then Arya began to cry.

"It's Mother!" she gasped and then Sansa also gasped and Ned turned to make sure they did not run. Sansa was trying to be brave, her eyes glassy, and Jeyne held her tight, her eyes also full of emotion. Arya stifled her small sobs and Gendry had his hands on her shoulders, and she took her right hand and reached up and squeezed his left hand tight.

"You'll be with her soon," Gendry said in a calm voice and Arya could only nod, her eyes wet with tears.

On the far side of the bridge Ned could see his wife had also begun to cry and her brother held her close. Ned fought to hold his emotions in check, knowing he needed a clear head for what was to come.

Then the ceremony began, as the Stark herald spoke. Ned knew him, an older knight in service with House Glover, and Ned knew he would have to make some reward to his family for this man's service. The two heralds would not be going home, but would travel with the enemy army to make sure the terms of the treaty were completed and adhered to. Not that they could do anything to stop a breaking of the terms, but it was a tradition and somewhat of a safeguard.

"We are met here to sign these terms of peace," said the Stark herald. "Who represents the Stark host?"

"Lord Robb Stark, Lord of Winterfell!" said the Greatjon in his booming voice that must have surely been heard by all in each camp. The same question was asked by the Lannister herald and Tywin's man boomed out his name and titles, trying to sound louder than the Greatjon but falling far short.

Robb stepped forward then and nodded to Tywin Lannister. "Lord Tywin," he said.

"Lord Stark," said Tywin curtly, and then he looked to the table. "Shall we?"

"Aye," said Robb. Here he was a boy not yet sixteen, sitting down to make peace terms with the great Tywin Lannister. This tale would long be told in the north, Ned knew.

The ceremony was short. Each of them looked over the scroll in front of them and then dipped quills in ink and signed. Then they melted wax the color of their houses in the candles' flames and added the melted wax to the scrolls and then stamped their sigils in the wax. They traded copies and signed again and stamped again and it was done. The heralds shook sand on the scrolls, and then when the ink was blotted they rolled up the copies of the treaty, kept them, and each herald stepped to the other side of the bridge.

Robb then asked Tywin a question. "The first payment of the promised gold for the Riverlands is to be paid before the Riverlands lords go home. May I ask where it is?"

"I did not have such a sum at Harrenhal," Tywin told him. "As I am sure you know running an army is rather an expensive task. The gold will come from Casterly Rock as soon as can be. Additional payments will be made in the coming months as per our agreement. As I am sure you know, I always pay my debts. Is that sufficient for you…Lord Stark?" Ned knew it galled him to call Robb 'lord'.

"That will do, Lord Tywin," Robb answered.

"Now I would have my son returned," Tywin said through gritted teeth.

"And I my sisters and father," said Robb calmly.

Tywin turned to Ned. "The girls and the smith first, you after Jaime crosses."

Ned had already agreed to this and merely nodded. "Go," he said to Sansa, and she started walking and behind her came Arya and Jeyne and Gendry. Sansa paused by Robb and she looked like she wanted to hug him.

"I'll see you soon," he said and then she nodded and passed him by and then she walked faster and then she was running and Jeyne and Arya were running behind her, with Gendry walking swiftly behind them. They all passed the Kingslayer without even a look, and then on the far bank Ned saw Cat open her arms wide and then Sansa and Arya were there and they were hugging and crying as Jeyne and Gendry stood awkwardly by, both without any parents to hug them now.

The Kingslayer was now walking forward, his guards staying where they were, and then he stopped by Robb. "I hope we meet again on some future battlefield," the Kingslayer said to him with while staring at Robb in a cocky manner. "You will not catch me by surprise again."

"He shouldn't have caught you in the first place," his father said to the Kingslayer. Ser Jaime looked at his father and Ned could see the Kingslayer looked a little abashed.

"Hello, Father," the Kingslayer said. "I'm sorry if I have caused you any inconvenience."

"Come, let us be done with this," Tywin snapped at him. "We have a war to fight. This time you will do better."

The Kingslayer said nothing and then Ned walked north and the Kingslayer walked south and soon father and son were standing side by side to the north and south.

"This concludes the ceremony," said the Stark herald and the Lannister herald agreed.

"Three days, Stark," Tywin said, addressing Robb. "Then your army must march north and the Tully bannermen go home."

"It will be done," said Robb. "When the first gold is delivered."

"Of course. See that it is done," said Tywin and then without another word he turned to leave. His son, however, could not leave without another jibe.

"One man for four children and you, dear Ned," he said. "I guess that is a fair trade. I am sure all your lords agree. I do hope you like wearing black. The Wall is supposed to be dreadfully cold."

Ned grunted. "We Starks know the cold well. Better than you southerners. If I were you I'd listen to your father and end your war quickly or make peace while you can. Winter is coming and you are not prepared at all."

"We have places to be," Tywin told his son and with one final smirk the Kingslayer turned and left.

"He is right," said Robb. "Some of our lords are still angry."

"Aye," Ned replied. "We will worry on that later. Come, your sisters await."

But Robb stopped him. "First, I have sad news. My grandfather Lord Tully passed away three days past."

Ned sighed. "Aye. How is she taking it?"

"Hard, as expected. But this day will make her smile again."

Within a half hour of the ceremony ending the Lannisters had packed up camp and were gone. After many tears and words of happiness, the Starks sat with Edmure and the Greatjon and had a large meal at a rough table set up under a pavilion. They ate and drank their fill and traded many stories. The girls were saddened to learn their grandfather had passed away and that made the mood more somber than it should have been. But all were looking forward to going north and seeing Winterfell and Bran and Rickon again after so long. Afterwards, Cat took Arya and Sansa off to a tent to speak to them alone, as Ned and Robb met with the Greatjon and Edmure to discuss what to do next.

"We must march north," Ned said at once. "When can the army be ready to move?"

"It is already moving," Robb told him. "We left the Riverlands lords and their forces at Riverrun with the Blackfish in command. Our men are one mile north of here, hidden in a forest and small valley, all seventeen thousand. I did not trust Tywin Lannister to not have some ruse up his sleeve."

"Well done," said Ned, proud of his son.

"I will returned to Riverrun tomorrow," Edmure told them next. "We will wait for the first gold payment and then I will tell our men to disband."

"We will wait with the main host for word from you," Robb told his uncle. "And then we go home."

"No, my lord! To the Twins and your wedding!" Greatjon Umber boomed and as Robb's face blanched they all had a good laugh at his expense.

After dark and everyone had settled down, Ned was finally alone with his wife in a tent that actually had a bed and small table and chairs. Catelyn got right to discussing their daughters.

"Arya refused to put away that sword," she complained as they sat at the small table in their tent, drinking a cup of wine. "And Sansa tells me Arya likes that boy Gendry."

Oh, well, no time like the present to get this over with. "It's just a girl's infatuation, not to worry."

"Good," she said. "She is promised to another. I will not have that boy come to Winterfell if he is going to cause trouble, even if he is Robert's son."

He stared at his wife. "He's Arya's friend. I told you how they fought together at the holdfast. Arya saved his life."

He saw she had now gone a bit pale. "How?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"Did she…?" But she left the question unfinished and Ned knew what she wanted to ask but was afraid to ask.

"Yes."

"Gods," Catelyn said with a heavy sigh. "Maybe he shouldn't come to Winterfell. If the Lannisters tried to kill him once, they will try again."

"I promised him a place. And Arya will be mad if you send him away."

"Then let her be mad! She will get over it!"

"Maybe," he said. "But I gave my word to the boy. He's Robert's boy, Cat. I can't refuse him."

She smoldered. "Another bastard at Winterfell."

"Don't…please, not now that we are finally together again."

Catelyn stared at him. "Maybe you should send this one to the Wall as well."

"I didn't send Jon to the Wall. He asked to go."

"Yes, that is true. But you know how I feel about him."

"Aye."

"And if that bastard smith touches Arya…"

"Shsssh. Not to worry, Cat. I had a talk with the lad. He knows she is promised to another."

She narrowed her eyes. "Does he have feelings for her as well?"

He could not lie to her, she knew him too well. "Perhaps."

"What did he say when you confronted him?"

"He said he knows he is low born, he knows it can never be, and he will leave her be."

"Good," his wife replied. "At least he has the sense to know his place."

Ned was tiring of this, but he knew he needed to placate her. "They are close friends, that's all. Maybe he'll meet some Winterfell girl his age and fall for her. Jeyne Poole already has big eyes for him. You'll see, there will be more than her and no boy his age could resist for long. And soon Arya will meet the Frey boy and maybe she'll take a fancy to him."

"Why does it have to be a Frey?" Catelyn said with a shake of her head. "Any other family…she will have to stay there, live with them, endure them."

All this surprised Ned. At least it seemed they were of the same mind on this.

"I know. Arya was so mad when I told her. But she will do her duty, she promised."

"She said the same to me. But she was biting her lip when she said it."

"Aye? Oh, well. Cat, listen. She is not a woman yet…"

"Thank the gods or she might run off with the smith!"

"He'd never do that. He has honor, I'll say that much for the lad. But she has three or four years before she has to marry the Frey boy. Who knows what will happen in that time?"

She nodded. "I was thinking the same. Winter will soon be here."

"Aye. Now, about Gendry?"

"He can come," she said grudgingly. "You gave him your word. I would not have you break it over this. But he better not be the cause of any trouble or I will throw him out in the snow!"

Ned laughed. "And I will help you! But Cat, he's a good lad. You'll see, there's nothing to fear. Come, to bed with us."

And Ned Stark lay with his wife and held her and loved her and after, as she slept, he lay in the darkness, holding her close, still awake for a long time. He hoped they would soon be home and all this madness would be behind them. But they still had a long road ahead. The Twins and the Freys awaited them. Robb's wedding would be a welcome respite from all this travel and war. He would have to have words with prickly old Walder Frey, and he was not looking forward to that. And Arya would have to meet her betrothed and he hoped she would be sensible enough to play along, and maybe some day when she was a woman and if she still cared for Gendry and he her, Ned could convince Cat to let them be with each other.

And above all, he hoped Stannis or Renly would win their battles to come quickly, and wished he could be by their side, but also knew he had done the best thing for his people, for his family, for his pack of northern wolves, and that in the long run he hoped history proved him right, that leaving the war and preparing for winter saved his people from perishing. He just prayed that the small folk to the south did not suffer much more because of the madness of kings, false kings, and kings to be.


	18. Chapter 18 Luwin

**Ned Stark Lives! Chapter 18 Luwin**

As he always did Maester Luwin of Winterfell came to the raven rookery each morning an hour after dawn to check for any raven that had flown in during the early morning. Ravens did not fly at night so sometimes they would be nearby and stop for the night to rest and then continue their journeys as soon as it got light. Sure enough one raven was in its little perch, with a tightly rolled and sealed piece of parchment attached to its leg. A quick glance told him the raven was from Riverrun. Its message was addressed to Bran, but it was Maester Luwin's duty to open all messages and give wise counsel to his lords. He quickly opened it, eager for news of the war and the Starks. It was from Lady Catelyn Stark.

_Dear Bran and Rickon, I have both glad and sad tidings. Your sisters Arya and Sansa are at Harrenhal with your father and will soon be free. We will make the exchange in two days time, and then we will soon be home. Sadly, your grandfather, my father, Lord Hoster Tully of Riverrun, passed away in his sleep yesterday. Today we will have his funeral rites. It grieves me that you never met him. He was a good father and a wise lord. May you both grow to be half as good a man as he was. I will see you soon my darlings. Love, Mother._

Glad and sad tidings indeed, Maester Luwin thought as he reread the message. Arya and Sansa were at Harrenhal. How had that come about? The last he had heard Sansa was still a prisoner in King's Landing and no one knew where Arya was. He had heard that Lord Eddard had been released from his prison after being forced to proclaim Joffrey the true king and then forced to join the Night's Watch. Some how all three had ended up at Harrenhal. Soon enough he hoped they would be home where they never should have left.

The death of Lady Catelyn's father was terrible news, but not unexpected. He had heard from Lady Catelyn of the illness that took him, the wasting illness, a terrible way for anyone to die. He was at peace at last. He had met Hoster Tully only a few times, the last time many years ago, when he had traveled north to visit his daughter and her growing brood. It was shortly after the end of the last winter, just after Arya had been born, and before the Greyjoy Rebellion had begun.

Soon, the Stark family would be reunited. The 'exchange' meant the trade for the Kingslayer, Ser Jaime Lannister. As Maester Luwin thought on this his mind went back to what Bran had said to him more than a week past. Young Cley Cerwyn had come last to the harvest feast and had told Bran that Joffrey was a bastard and had no right to the Iron Throne and that Stannis Baratheon was claiming it. Maester Luwin had already heard this news, as he had a raven from Dragonstone. So apparently had many other houses in the north and the story was on all the lips of all those who had gathered for the harvest feast. But it was not a story for an eight-year-old boy's ears and Luwin had kept it to himself and only told Ser Rodrik Cassel when he had returned north after bidding goodbye to Lady Catelyn in White Harbor. Bran had come to him the next day before the harvest feast to ask him if it was true.

"Yes," Maester Luwin told him as they sat in his study room in the maester's tower. The huge stable boy Hodor stood behind Bran, ready to take him wherever he wanted to go next. "Stannis Baratheon is claiming that Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen are not King Robert's children. That he is the rightful king as Robert's next older brother."

"How can the Kingslayer be their father? He is the Queen's brother."

Master Luwin looked at him steadily and thought carefully on his words before speaking. "Bran, men and women are not always true to the laws of gods and men. They break their oaths, they forsake their vows, and they wrong the gods. While I do not know the entire truth of this story, it is possible it is true."

"He has golden hair, does he not?" Bran asked next, an odd look on his face.

"Ser Jaime? Yes, all the Lannister's have golden hair. Why do you ask?"

Bran looked like he was about to say something but then shrugged. "Trying to remember what he looked like. He was here, with King Robert, when I got hurt."

"Yes, he and the Queen and Tyrion Lannister their brother were all here."

"I know that," Bran said in a tone that said 'I am not stupid'. "The Imp gave me the design for my saddle."

"Yes, he did. That was good of him"

Bran fidgeted a bit. "Why did my mother have him arrested?"

"She believed he had paid the man who attacked you."

"I think it was not him," Bran declared. "He was too nice to me. Why would he have someone try to kill me?"

"I don't know," Maester Luwin told him and the truth was he really did not. Here at Winterfell before she went south, Lady Catelyn had suggested Jamie Lannister was somehow involved in all that had happened to Bran. Then in King's Landing she had learned the dagger belonged to Tyrion Lannister. Or so she was told, by Petyr Baelish. From those words in her ears all else had followed. When Ser Rodrik had returned and reported all that had gone on from the moment Lady Catelyn had seize Tyrion Lannister at the crossroads inn he knew it was a folly from the start. They had had no proof except the word of one man against the other. As Bran had just said the actions of Tyrion Lannister did not seem those of a man guilty of such a crime. He was not here when Bran was attacked, and he had been gone from Winterfell the day Bran had fallen – or was pushed, as Lady Catelyn believed. Try as he might to remember Bran still had no recollections of that day. Or so he said.

Folly it was to accuse the Lannisters without proof, and events proved him correct, with Lord Stark and Sansa taken prisoner in King's Landing, with Arya going missing, and with all of their friends and companions killed. When the news came to the north, there had been shock and outrage and Robb had called the banners and the northmen in all their fury marched south. It had been left to Maester Luwin to sort through the messy details of what had gone on in King's Landing. He wrote to Grand Maester Pycelle, asking for the names of those killed and those held prisoner. He wrote despite not trusting Pycelle, knowing he had been too long Grand Maester of the Seven Kingdoms for too many kings, and was really more a servant of the Lannisters than the realm. A maester served, no matter who was in charge of the castle, the house, or even the realm, and was bound by oath to take no sides. But history was rife with maesters who had forgotten this simplest of oaths, and Pycelle he counted among them.

The news he got back had been a curt message saying that Lord Stark was a traitor who had tried to overthrown the new King and would be judged accordingly. There was also a list of all those they knew to be dead. There were no prisoners. That was a lie as Sansa and Lord Stark were still held against their will at that time. And a few names were missing from the list, including Jeyne Poole, even though her father was listed among those killed 'resisting arrest', as Pycelle had put it. It was a mummer's farce. They had killed them all without mercy, Maester Luwin knew in his heart, even old Septa Mordane, who would never hurt a fly.

Then it had been left to Maester Luwin to go from family to family in Winterfell to tell them this dreaded news of sons and husbands and other loved ones now dead. There had been more anger and many tears and he could do naught but offer them comforting words. He knew there would be more such news in the months to come as the lists of the dead from the battles in the Riverlands was added to those who fell in King's Landings.

Maester Luwin had feared the worst when young Robb had gone south at the head of his army. Tywin Lannister was the foremost commander in the Seven Kingdoms and his son was one of the best swordsmen. But Robb had shocked them all and had defeated and captured the Kingslayer and had outwitted Tywin Lannister. Now Lord Stark and his family were soon to be united and were coming home.

He found Bran and Rickon in the great hall, having their breakfast, with Ser Rodrik, the two Frey boys, both named Walder, and the children of Howland Reed, Meera and Jojen. The Frey boys Bran did not like, and Maester Luwin knew why. They were full of swagger and self-importance, knowing they were supposed to be treated as honored guests. The Reed children were the opposite of the Freys, polite, and friendly to all, and respectful. Bran and Rickon had taken an immediate liking to them.

"Pardon me," Maester Luwin said to them has he approached the table. "I must have words with Bran and Rickon. Stay as well, Ser Rodrik."

The Reed children immediately got up, but the one they called Little Walder, who was big, continued to munch on his bacon while the other one they called Big Walder, who was actually smaller than his cousin, ripped a piece of bread from a loaf and took a bite.

"He means you should leave," Bran said sharply to the Frey boys as if they were deaf or stupid.

"I'm not done eating," said Little Walder in an insolent tone.

"You can finish later," said Ser Rodrik, trying to keep his tone calm. "Now go out in the yard and get yourselves some tourney swords and we'll practice when I am done here."

Big Walder's eyes lit up and he stood, grabbing some bacon. "Now you're in for it," he told the other one.

Little Walder laughed. "I'm bigger than you."

"I'm twice as fast and you know it."

The Reed children had already gone after polite goodbyes and these two soon stomped away, hands full of bacon and bread.

"I hate them," Bran said in a low voice.

"They're fun," Rickon said with a grin.

"They're stupid," Bran retorted.

Maester Luwin knew why Bran hated them and Rickon liked them. They liked to play and run around and have fun and soon Rickon had joined in their games. Bran could not join in, as his broken body did not permit him to have much fun anymore. His hatred was part due to their insolence and part due to his jealousy that he could not do as they did.

"Put them out of your minds for now," Maester Luwin told them. "I have news from your mother. Good news and bad news, I am afraid."

Bran looked scared. "What's happened? Is it Father?"

"No," Maester Luwin said quickly then sighed heavily and told them the bad news. "Your grandfather, Lord Hoster Tully, has died."

"Oh," said Bran in surprise and then Rickon spoke.

"Who is he?"

"Our grandfather, stupid," Bran said to his little brother and Rickon punched Bran's arm.

"Don't call me stupid!"

"Enough!" growled Ser Rodrik. "Act like the little lords you are supposed to be and not like two idiot Freys. Listen to the maester."

"He was sick for a long time," Maester Luwin explained. "Now he is with the gods."

"We never met him," said Bran in a sad voice.

"No, you did not," Maester Luwin said. "He was a good man and loved by all. Now…there is also good news. Arya has been found and she and Sansa are at Harrenhal with you father."

"Yeaaahhh!" cheered Rickon. "Arya!"

"And Sansa, too?" Bran asked with a smile.

"Yes," Maester Luwin told them. "They will soon be exchanged for Jaime Lannister."

"The gods be good," said Ser Rodrik.

"They're at Harrenhal?" Bran asked in puzzlement. "What was Arya doing there?"

Rickon spoke up before the maester could answer Bran's question. "Are they coming home?"

Maester Luwin nodded. "Soon, they will all be home. As for Arya, I know not the details. Here is your mother's letter."

He handed Bran the small piece of parchment. "Read it out loud!" Rickon asked loudly and Bran did so. After he finished they talked on when they might come home and other things and Maester Luwin had some food as well.

Afterward, Ser Rodrik and Rickon went out in the yard to practice with the Frey boys. Hodor carried Bran as he and Master Luwin went to visit the new steward of Winterfell. They sat for an hour and went over all the inventory of the harvest and how much wine and ale and wood they had in storage. They had already had the white raven from the Citadel of Old Town telling them winter was coming.

"It will be a long winter, I fear," Maester Luwin said after they left the steward and went to the yard to watch the others practice. Hodor placed Bran on a chair at a small table set up nearby and Maester Luwin sat as well. The Reed children were here as well, practicing in the yard with the Frey boys and Rickon, using the weapons of their people, net and spear, and more than once Bran laughed as Meera caught one of the Frey boys or Rickon in her net and they fell to the ground.

Maester Luwin looked at the children of Howland Reed and once more wondered why they were really here. They said they came to pay their father's respects and to reassure the Starks of his loyalty in these troubled times. But Howland Reed had had little contact with the Stark's over the years, despite living so near and being a close companion of Lord Eddard during Robert's Rebellion. The northerners were always suspicious of the crannogmen, despite their oaths of loyalty. Crannogmen were different, to be sure, shorter of stature than the tall northerners, and were oft despised for the way they fought, using poison and hiding in their bogs to strike suddenly. The Neck was a place travelers feared to go, with snakes and lion lizards around them, and crannogmen hiding in the bog. But it was all nonsense as far as Maester Luwin knew. They never bothered travelers and often helped those who took ill or whose wagons broke down on the causeway through the swamps. In many years he had heard of no one actually being attacked by crannogmen on the road through the Neck.

"Do we have enough food to last a long winter?" Bran asked and Maester Luwin came out of his thoughts and smiled. It was good of Bran to start asking such questions. Someday he would need to know such things, if he was to serve his father or brother well.

"Enough food for a five year winter," Maester Luwin answered. "But it may not be enough, if the winter last longer."

"Longer than five years!" Bran said incredulously. "That can't be possible."

"This summer has been more than nine years, the longest in living memory. Why can't a winter be five years or more?"

"I don't know," Bran replied in the slightly sulky voice he got when he did not know the answer to something. "You're the maester. You tell me why each season is so different."

Maester Luwin made a thoughtful 'hmmm' sound before speaking. "Long have my order thought on this question. Many of the small folk and lords and ladies say it is the will of the gods to make it so, to test our will in times of need. One of my brothers who studied the stars for many years claimed it was due to our position in the heavens. He said that the sun moved, and the world moved, and at times we were closer to the sun and then at times father away. So the heat we received was not the same at all times. Hence summer and winter."

"That sounds right," Bran said right away. "Already the days are growing shorter and the sun is lower on the horizon."

"Smart lad," the Maester said. "It is true. The days grow shorter and the sun dips lower. Soon there will only be five or six hours of daylight per day and then the howling snows will come."

"Will the food last?"

"We have grain a plenty, wheat and oats and barely and corn. Of salted fish and beef and pork and mutton, many casks. Smoked sausages and hams as well. There is also plenty of wine and ale and beer. What we will lack is fresh food as winter goes on. We have the glass gardens to grow fresh vegetables for a time yet but when the real cold comes and the sun is very weak even the glass gardens will not be able to grow anything. The vegetables will then not last long, nor the fruit. So we must pickle as many vegetables as we can, preserve as much fruit as we can. Clay pots are good for that but glass jars are better. But glass jars are lacking. I tried to order more from White Harbor, but they say a shipment from Myr was lost to pirates or a storm. It never arrived. And with the war in the south nothing is coming up the Kingsroad these days."

"We should make our own glass jars," Bran declared.

Maester Luwin nodded. "I said this to your father many times. We should hire a master glass maker from Myr to teach some young boys here. But the Glass Guilds of Myr are very strict with their secrets and rarely do they permit their members to take service outside of Myr. There is a master in King's Landing, in service to the royal family, but he is the only one I know of outside of the Free Cities."

"It's not right," Bran stated strongly. "They should share the secret."

"Many men would agree, but if you knew how to make something special and it made you rich and powerful, would you share the secret?"

Bran thought for a long moment on that. "No. I think I understand."

"Good. Now, as for the food, the fresh and preserved fruit and vegetables will not last a long winter. At the end we will be down to eating hard bread and salted meat and maybe even drinking just water. The animals I fear may also be lost if the winter is too long. We shall have to keep them all inside and fodder for them will be hard to come by."

"What about Summer and Shaggydog?" Bran asked suddenly. "Will we have food for them?"

The two direwolves were locked up in the godswood, banished there after Shaggydog bit one of the Frey boys who had struck Rickon with a stick in a game they had been playing. The direwolves' howls at night unnerved the whole castle for many days but now they seemed to have settled down.

"I believe we will," said Maester Luwin to Bran's question, but he knew that come winter the two direwolves would be trouble. They were not animals meant to be kept inside walls. If the winter lasted long and food ran short, they would starve and might even end up in the pot themselves. He would tell Bran and Rickon to release them before that happened, and hopefully they could survive on their own in the wild until winter passed.

The direwolves had been on Maester Luwin's mind of much lately. Bran kept saying he dreamed of them and Rickon said so at least once. They both had an unnatural attachment to the direwolves. He wondered if the other Stark children had also been so attached. Ghost was with Jon on the Wall and Grey Wind was at Robb's side in the Riverlands. He had heard of the terrible thing that had happened on the Kingsroad as Lord Eddard and his daughters traveled south. Nymeria had bit Joffrey to protect Arya and then ran away, and Lord Eddard had been forced to kill Lady to appease the Queen. This protecting of the children was not unusual for dogs, he knew, who would die to protect their master. But of direwolves he had no experience. Nymeria had leaped to help Arya and Summer had saved Bran's life from the footpad with the dagger. Shaggydog had leaped at the Frey boy as soon as he had struck Rickon. And then there was how Summer had howled through the time Bran was unconscious and they all feared he would die.

As he thought on this a great yell came from the yard and once more Meera had one of the Frey's, Little Walder, caught in her net. As she untangled him, her tripped her and leaped on her in angry and was about to strike her with his fists when Bran yelled.

"Stop it!" and Ser Rodrik had already done so, grabbing Little Walker in his big arms and pulling him off Meera who instantly leaped to her feet, her spear in front of her and her eyes glaring at Little Walder.

"If you cannot practice without getting angry, you shouldn't practice," she said to Little Walder.

"You cheated!" he shouted back. "Only cravens use nets in a fight!"

Ser Rodrik turned him around and glared at him. "Anyone can use any weapon anytime, so you best be ready for anything if you want to live. You understand, boy?"

"Yes," he said in an abashed tone. "She still cheated."

"Right, off you go," said Ser Rodrik. "All of you. That's enough for one day. Get washed up and then after lunch you have your lessons with the maester."

"I hate book learning," said Big Walder as they walked away.

"That's because you're stupid," Bran said under his breath.

Thirty minutes after lunch Master Luwin had all six children in his tower, discussing mathematics with them and making sure they learned how to do their sums and the rest. Meera and Jojen had at first not taken part in these daily lessons but they seemed quite bored and Maester Luwin had invited them to join the lessons. He knew they had no maester or septa at Greywater Watch, their floating home in the bogs. They said their parents had taught them all they knew. Meera and her brother were older and Maester Luwin soon learned they were far ahead of the others in mathematics so he gave them more complex problems to solve. Bran was of an age with the Walders but was also far ahead of them and Maester Luwin wondered with a shake of his head what passed for an education for the children of the Twins. Rickon was learning fast and quickly got bored with just doing addition and subtraction so Maester Luwin was now teaching him multiplication and division as well.

The first day he had had class with them all the Walders had bristled at Meera joining them. "Girls don't study with a maester," Big Walder had said. "They study with a septa and learn music and sewing and stupid things women need to know."

"Shut up," Bran told him instantly. "Our sisters learned from Maester Luwin and Septa Mordane."

"Be more civil, Bran," admonished Maester Luwin. "Not all houses do things the same way." He turned to the Walders. "Meera is our guest as are you and as we have no septa at the moment she will study with us."

"I am almost sixteen," Meera had said, her anger obvious, as she rose from the table they sat around in the maester's tower. "I know many things already. I don't need to study."

"Sit down," Maester Luwin told her. "There is always more you can learn."

She did as he asked and she soon learned she did not know everything. Her younger brother had not said much at first but Maester Luwin soon learned he had a sharp mind and was quick to understand many things.

After the lessons ended he sent them off to play or do what they wanted for a time, with an admonishment not to fight. Bran, however, took a book on the stars from Maester Luwin's collection and went off to read. To understand summer and winter better, he said, and Maester Luwin grinned and patted him on the back and Hodor took him away.

With some free time on his hands Maester Luwin decided to deal with an unpleasant task he had been brooding on since receiving Lady Catelyn's message this morning. He needed words with the wildling woman Osha. He found her in the kitchens, helping the cook cut some vegetables. He didn't know if it was wise to let her have access to a knife or not, but she had proven herself grateful she had not been killed and had served well, if grudgingly, these past few months. Maester Luwin had a decision to make and once he decided, he had to talk with her. Alone.

"Osha, when you are free come to my tower," he told her and an hour later she arrived.

"What is it?" she said right away, before he even said anything.

"Sit," he said, and she did so, looking around in suspicion. She doesn't trust me or anyone else here. Well, she was a wildling after all, so that was expected.

"I need talk with you about several things," he told her. "First, Lord and Lady Stark will be coming back to Winterfell soon."

"Is the war over?" she asked.

"The north's part in it will be over soon, at least."

She snorted. "Don't fool yourself, old man. War hasn't even started up here yet."

Maester Luwin looked at her steadily. "If you are referring to the Others…"

"I am," she said quickly. "And those of my kind. They'll be coming, to get away from them with blue eyes. That's why I come south, you know that."

"How many of your kind is there?"

"Don't rightly know," Osha told him. "Tens of thousands, I reckon. Mance was gathering up all the free folk, but me and them others you lot killed decided to head south as far as we could."

"Winterfell is not that far south."

She shrugged. "Maybe I ain't done running yet."

"Maybe you will wish you had kept going. When Lord and Lady Stark return they will ask about you. I am sure by now Robb has told them what happened. You attacked their son, a crippled boy. They will not forget nor forgive that."

"You going to put me in chains again?" she asked with a snort. "Leave me for your masters to skin alive?"

"No, Lord Stark would do no such thing. But he might be angry enough to kill you. It would be a quick death."

"Why you telling me this?"

"I think you know why."

"You are a fool, old man. You let me go, what do you think Stark will do to you?"

"I am not letting you go," Maester Luwin told her. "I am merely advising you of what could happen. If you wish to go, however, no one will stop you. You are not a prisoner anymore."

She thought on that and he could see she was trying to see if there was any trick in what he said. "Might be I stay a while longer," she finally said. "It's warm here and you got food enough for one more mouth."

"With the recent harvest, yes we do. So, be it on your head. I have warned you of what could happen."

"Aye, you have. If that's it…"

"No, please stay. I want to ask you some more things."

"What?"

"Tell me all you know about the Others."

Her face took on a more serious demeanor. "All I know is what my father told me and his father told him."

"It may be that is more than even we know."

Osha raised her eyebrows. "You a man of learning and all and you're asking me about things you don't know about. Ain't that something."

"I'm willing to learn if you will teach me."

"Fancy that. Right. First thing is burn the dead, my father said," Osha told him. "When the cold winds are rising it means they are coming. So burn all your dead. Animals, too."

"Burn the dead because…?"

"I didn't ask him, old man," she said. "I just listened. You should too. Burn your dead."

"When the cold winds are rising. What does that mean?"

"You sure you're a man of learning?" Osha said with a suspicious look in her eyes. "It means when it's cold. Winter."

"But we have had hundreds of winters and the Others have not been seen for thousands of years. Most people think they are a myth."

"They ain't a myth, old man. And they ain't been seen cause they been sleeping, under the ice and snow way up north. The old wise woman of our village said that a winter unlike any other was coming soon, a winter so cold that it would crack the Wall in two and the Others would march south like they did in the past."

"The Wall was built to stop the Others."

"Aye, the first time. Course you left my people on the other side and forgot we are men and women and children just like you. Call us wildlings and think the Wall was put there to keep us out. You got the wrong of it, the lot of you. We was trapped on the other side, says the old woman, and had no chance to run when the Wall went up. And for thousands of years you kept us there, as the Wall got higher."

"Perhaps," said Maester Luwin. What she said made sense, but he had no proof of any of it. And he needed proof for it to be real to him. "But surely if these Others exist and…"

"If? Old man, they may be just stories and myths to you southerners, but think on this. All myths have some beginning, don't they? Bran the Builder may be a myth but somewhere in the far past someone built that Wall and knew the secrets to keep the Others out. You believe in him, you know the Wall is there, then it ain't hard to figure that something, Others you and my kind call them, needed to be kept on the other side of that Wall."

"Then how will they cross this time?"

She shrugged. "Don't know. Maybe they won't. But Mance will."

"What do you mean?" he asked in worry.

Osha shook her head in despair. "What I been saying to you? You think the free folk are just going to sit still and let the Others kill them all? No, they're going to come south, either over that Wall or under it through the gates."

"There are only three gates left."

"Aye," she said. "Three gates. Every one of my people know that much."

"When will he attack?"

"The sooner the better if Mance was smart."

"The Night's Watch will stop them."

"They didn't stop me and them others you lot killed from climbing the Wall. There ain't enough of them."

"The Night's Watch is always short of men these days. They ask for support but the southern lords only send them the dregs of their prisons and towns and even those are not enough."

"Could be you tell them Mance is coming with the Others on his heels they will send more men."

Maester Luwin shook his head. "I doubt it. They do not believe in the Others."

"They should. Cause they're coming."

"There could be something to that. Many months ago a man deserted from the Night's Watch. He was babbling on about seeing the Others, even up to the point where Lord Eddard cut off his head. But no one believed him."

"They should have."

"Maybe. Now, what else can you tell me about them?"

"My father said that long ago the black crows knew how to kill them."

"How?"

"With fire. They fear fire."

"That's good to know. Fire is always a foe of ice and cold."

"Aye. He also said there were stories about the black crows having special swords and spears and daggers. They could kill the Others."

"What was special about these weapons?"

"Don't rightly know. Something about the blades."

"That is interesting. I need to do more research on this. I think that is all we need talk about."

But instead of leaving she spoke again. "I need to ask you something," Osha said to his surprise. "The little lord is having more wolf dreams, isn't he."

Maester Luwin stared at her and nodded once. "He told you?"

"The whole castle hears when he awakes screaming."

Maester Luwin sighed. "Yes. He says he dreams of being a wolf. His direwolf to be exact."

"Warg," she said in awe.

Maester Luwin was not surprised. He had thought on this also but still believed it only a myth. "No, that's nonsense, a warg is…no, it can't be. It's just a dream"

"Why can't it be, old man? A warg, a skin changer. That is what he is."

"Say nothing of this to anyone," Maester Luwin swiftly said. "They would not understand. They would fear him."

"I'll say nothing," Osha answered and was soon gone back to her work, leaving Maester Luwin with much to think on and no real answers. The trouble with such tales as Mance Rayder's wildling army and the coming of the Others is that those with power to do something about them would not believe until it was too late. As for wargs, well, that was something else he needed to do more research on.

But suddenly he had no time to think on any of this. The next few days were filled with bad news and endless activity. Roose Bolton's bastard son Ramsey Snow had waylaid the widowed Lady Hornwood on her way home from the harvest feast and had forced her to marry him and will him her castle and lands. She was now a prisoner in the Dreadfort. The Manderlys of White harbor had seen this as an insult to their family as Lady Hornwood was a Manderly by birth, cousin to the Lord of White Harbor. They seized the Hornwood castle and lands before the bastard could and now there was a small civil war going on between the Dreadfort and White Harbor. Ser Rodrik saw it as his duty to go out with a strong force of men to try to end the madness by forcing Ramsey Snow to release Lady Hornwood and set things back to rights, if it were possible. Maester Luwin had reluctantly agreed with him, and then wished Lord Eddard and the host with him hurried home as fast as it could.

Then not soon after that came news of the ironmen raiding the Stony Shore. The local lords said it was just hit and run raids but Maester Luwin had a bad feeling about it. He dispatched ravens to both Riverrun and the Twins with this news of the turmoil in the north and asked that they convey his message to the Starks with all possible haste. In his message he requested some force, however small, be sent to the north with as much speed as possible.

With all this happening plus his duties of maester and now the duty of castellan with Ser Rodrik gone, it was a good few days before Maester Luwin realized something else was happening in the castle. The first sign of trouble was when six guards had dragged the guard Alebelly to the baths because he had not bathed in some time. When asked about it Alebelly shouted that the frog boy told Bran he would drown if he went near water.

Late in the evening Maester Luwin sat with Bran in his cluttered tower room and asked him what was happening.

"Jojen has the greensight, they told me," Bran began. "He said he has dreams that come true. In one of his dreams he saw Winterfell covered in water, that the sea had come and drown the castle. Many people drown."

"It's just a dream," Maester Luwin said. "Now you have scared Alebelly with such tales."

They talked long on what the greensight was and about magic and the children of the forests and other such tales. Finally they got around to Bran's direwolf dreams.

"Jojen called me a warg," Bran told him.

There was that word again. "Did he? Do you know what it means?"

"They told me it means I can go inside Summer and become part of him."

Maester Luwin nodded. "That is what the legends say a warg can do, if such a person exists. Can you do that?" He needed the truth of this now.

"I think so. Maybe. I don't know. It feels so real when I am dreaming of Summer. But then…then the rest happens."

"What rest? There is more to your dream?" Maester Luwin asked.

Then Bran changed the conversation. "Is the Kingslayer still a captive of Robb?"

"Yes… maybe. I am not sure. The exchange may have already taken place. Now Bran your dreams. You…" But Bran interrupted him.

"And we can't get Arya and Sansa and Father back without trading the Kingslayer for them?"

"No."

"There is no other way?"

"I am afraid not," Maester Luwin told him. "Bran what does Jaime Lannister have to do with your dreams?" The boy hesitated and Maester Luwin could see he was afraid. "Come, tell me. You can trust me. I pulled you from your mother when you were born. I have taken care of you all your life. Sorry to say I could not fix your broken back. I think no power in the world will able to do that."

"Jojen says I will fly when my third eye opens."

What was this? "Your third eye?"

"In the dreams there is always a three eyed crow, and he is flying to me, and sometimes it is pecking at my head and brain. Jojen said the crow is trying to make me see with my third eye, to see the whole world with my heart, not just my eyes."

Maester Luwin was beginning to understand. Those with the greensight power believed they saw the whole of time all at once, past, present and future. The Reed boy had such power, the brother and sister were claiming.

"Perhaps it is so," Maester Luwin told him. "If all men saw more than what was before their eyes they could see much more of the world."

"No," Bran said, getting cross. "It's not like that. He means I will have a special power. Like he does."

Maester Luwin sighed. "I have explained to you all I know of magic, of how I once studied it at the Citadel and tried to do it. Perhaps this greensight is a kind of magic. But maybe it is just a dream Jojen is having. The seas are far from Winterfell, Bran. How could they drown the castle and its people?"

Bran nodded. "I know. That's what I said to him. The sea can't come to Winterfell."

"Well, I am glad that is settled."

"I'm not finished."

"Oh?"

He was silent for a moment and Maester Luwin waited patiently before Bran spoke again. "In my dreams…I'm always falling."

"Is that why you wake up shaking and screaming?"

He looked ashamed and spoke in a small voice. "Yes."

"You are remembering how you fell from the keep's tower, that is all. It will pass with time."

"I didn't fall! I never fell!" he said with anger.

"Bran, there is no shame in saying you fell. It has happened and it is over with and there is nothing we can do about it."

"Yes, there is," he said and now he was shaking and Maester Luwin held his shoulders and could feel the fear in the boy. "But its too late. I should have said sooner. They are going to let him go. Maybe they already set him free."

"Who?"

"The Kingslayer."

Maester Luwin was confused. "What…?" And then he understood. Lady Catelyn had the right of it after all. Luwin held him by the shoulders and looked deep into his eyes. "Tell me, Bran. Were you pushed from that tower?"

Tears fell from Bran's eyes now and he nodded. "Yes," he gasped. "In my dreams a man with golden hair pushes me off the tower. Almost every night."

"Just in your dream?" That was not proof of anything.

"No…now I remember. Now my third eye has been opened. A little. The day Cley came and told me what Stannis is saying about Joffrey. I remembered, I knew it then. He pushed me because I saw them. I saw them doing what men and women do."

That was more than two weeks ago. Why had he waited so long? He was afraid. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Who did you see?"

"I saw the Queen and her brother, Ser Jaime. They were…like men and women who are married."

Maester Luwin felt his heart beat faster and he took several deep breaths. "And then what happened?"

Bran sobbed now and his words came between his gasps. "The Kingslayer…he… pushed me… out the window. And almost every night he does it again."

Then he broke down in sobs and Maester Luwin held him tight and calmed him and later gave him dreamwine and had Hodor take him to bed. Long into the night Maester Luwin sat in his tower and worried on what to do and he realized there was nothing he could do that would not jeopardize Sansa and Arya and Lord Eddard's freedom. The Kingslayer would walk free. He probably already had if the exchange was finished. Maester Luwin was not a very godly man but he prayed that some sword would soon slay Jaime Lannister and that the gods would send him to some hell where he was pushed from a tower every night, to break his legs and back and lay in agony only for it to happen again the next night.

Maester Luwin knew he had to have a record of what Bran had said, and he had to write it now while it was fresh in his mind. He wrote a long account of his conversation with Bran and then he rolled the parchment tight and sealed it with black wax and put Lord Eddard's name on the outside and put it among his important papers and documents on a shelf.

The next morning Bran awoke and said he had no dreams at all and for a few moments Maester Luwin thought he had lied but then realized he hadn't. He had heard no screams during the night and the boy's guards said he had not made a sound all night.

Feeling good for the first time in days Maester Luwin went to the rookery and saw there was one raven with one message. It was sitting on a roost that was barely ever used. It was the raven from Moat Cailin. With trembling fingers Maester Luwin untied the scroll and opened the message.

_Under attack. Ironmen. Send help!_

That was it, written in a hasty hand, the ink running in spots, as if there had been no time to let it dry.

Moat Cailin under attack. Dire news indeed. The ironmen had made their choice. They had decided to enter the war. And they had done so with a strike at the most strategic point in all of the north. If Moat Cailin fell, then the Stark army would have to fight their way home. Once more Maester Luwin wrote messages to the Starks and sent a raven to Riverrun and for the Twins as well.

Now what to do. Ser Rodrik was still gone to settle the Hornwood problem and he had no word where he was or what he was up to. Moat Cailin was at the north end of the Neck. That was crannogmen lands. But no ravens would find them. No maester served at Greywater Watch, the floating castle of Howland Reed. Yet, he had two crannogmen here with him. He called the two Reed children to his tower, alone.

"How soon can you be ready to go home?"

"We can't go home," said Jojen, the solemn son of Howland Reed. "We must stay here with Bran until he is ready to fly."

His sister looked at him in anger. "Don't talk about it. He won't believe us anyway."

"Bran has told me some of this," Master Luwin told them. "But we have no time for such discussions now. Warriors from the Iron Islands are attacking Moat Cailin. It may have already fallen."

"That is terrible news," said Meera. "Am I to understand you want us to go to our father to ask for his help?"

"Yes."

"There is no need," she told him. "My father will soon know, may already know. We use no ravens, but the waterways of our land help us move swiftly for those who know how to travel them. He may already be assembling a force to come north to Moat Cailin."

"Does he have enough men to take it back if it falls?"

"No," her brother said. "He would not attack. Moat Cailin is very strong. We would lose too many of our people."

"That is unfortunate," said Maester Luwin. He knew the crannogmen would not fight an open battle. They would surely lose to the ironmen in any pitched battle. "Lord Robb Stark and his host will be trapped to the south if they cannot take back Moat Cailin. Is there naught your father can do?"

Meera smiled. "He can cut off their supplies and harass them. They will not see our people but will know we are there. Then Lord Stark and his men can attack them when they are weak."

"I have seen this already," said Jojen. "Three towers in the mud, many arrows coming from them. But a turtle climbed up out of the swamp and came to the door of one tower and used its head to knock it in. Soon the other towers fell as well."

"A greensight dream?" Maester Luwin asked him.

"Yes," said Jojen.

"No turtle can knock down a tower door."

"Sometimes the dreams are not always as they seem," explained Meera.

"Like the dream that Winterfell was drown by the sea?"

Now the boy looked steadily at Maester Luwin. "Winterfell will be drown by the sea. But now I think the dream is not as I first saw it. Now I think the wolf will return to Winterfell. When the wolf comes against the sea, the sea will retreat and will go back where it came from."

"What does it mean?" Maester Luwin asked in frustration. "Who is the wolf? Lord Eddard? His son?"

"Maybe. Maybe not," said Meera.

Maester Luwin sighed in frustration. "Very well. Thank you for your advice." They left him and for a long time Maester Luwin thought on what they had said. A turtle will rise, a wolf will return, the sea will retreat. All of this made his head hurt. He needed advice, advice on what was going on and what was going to happen next. He knew of only one man in the Seven Kingdoms who could advise him. For a long time he carefully composed his message. When it was done, he tied it to the raven for Castle Black and sent it off. Perhaps Maester Aemon would know more about these greensight dreams and what they truly meant. At the same time, he added Osha's warnings about Mance Rayder and the wildlings and the Others. He just hoped he was not too late.


	19. Chapter 19 Tyrion

**Ned Stark Lives! Chapter 19 Tyrion**

The road south from Harrenhal to King's Landing was long, hot, and very dusty, but for once in many weeks it was safe, and Tyrion Lannister and his group encountered no marauding bands and no enemy armies. They did encounter many small folk, wearily making their way home, and more than one group had run away through field and forest when they saw their Lannister banners. But gradually the idea that peace had come to the region seeped through and the further south they went the more activity they saw and the less afraid people were. They were cleaning their farms, burying their dead, and trying to plant another crop before winter came. Many angry sullen stares were sent their way and more than one person spit in the dirt after they passed. But none dared to lift a hand against them.

Tyrion made sure he was comfortable throughout the journey, and every night when they stopped he drank his fill and bedded Shae and slept very well, for he knew he would soon be in the capital and he did not look forward to that at all. Bronn was with him, of course, and Podrick, plus Shagga and Timett and the rest of his wildlings. They had been paid some already, by his father, and Tyrion thought some might leave him but they all stayed and talked endlessly about what riches would come in the battles ahead, if they lived that is. Fear of death did not seem to bother them in the least, and they were all of one mind that this life was better than living a meager existence in their stony hills with little Lord Arryn and his ilk barring them from the fertile Vale.

Ser Jason and his men had come along as well, plus an addition five hundred men on horse, to reinforce the capital. Tyrion led a grand host south, almost a thousand men and thirty wagons. Well, not so grand a host as his father would soon lead, as soon as Jaime was freed.

On the sixth day in the afternoon, more than half way to King's Landing, Bronn and Tyrion were riding side by side in the middle of the column, debating how to prepare King's Landing for war, when they saw smoke on the horizon.

"Funny," said Bronn. "I thought the war was over in these parts."

"Indeed," Tyrion replied. "Maybe someone didn't get the word." Then he saw a rider heading back to them from the front of their long column.

"Ser Jason needs to have a word, Lord Tyrion!" the rider said in a hurry and soon Tyrion and Bronn, with Pod not far behind as usual, went riding hard to the front of the column.

"Scout just came back, my lord," said Ser Jason. "Reports a large body of horse ahead, our banners, attacking a small village. Also, he saw Ser Gregor Clegane's banner."

"Clegane," Tyrion said with a shake of his head. "That fool is suppose to be riding hard to King's Landing. What's he doing stopped here making war?"

"Suppose we ride on and find out," Bronn answered. "But I wouldn't call him a fool if I were you. They don't call the man the Mountain for nothing."

Twenty minutes later they reached the rearguard of Clegane's command and soon enough they met the great Mountain himself in the midst of the village, where a few houses were on fire, the source of the smoke. There were many slain men on the ground, some Lannister men that had been riding with Clegane, but a great deal more were not. They were all in some type of armor and with weapons lying nearby their dead hands. About thirty others were on their knees, now prisoners. They were on the side of the Kingsroad where it passed through the village,.

"Ser Gregor," Tyrion said as he, Ser Jason, and Bronn approached.

"Imp," Ser Gregor replied in his deep voice. Well, so much for courtesies, Tyrion thought as Clegane continued speaking. "Your father will be pleased to know I have finally captured the outlaw Dondarrion. Now all I need is a stout tree to hang him from."

"Oh?" said Tyrion. "Where is he?"

"Dondarrion!" the Mountain shouted. "Get your arse over here, you whore's son!"

In the midst of the prisoners one man stood. He was tall, had long reddish blond hair and a growth of beard. One side of his head seemed as if it had been injured, and was slightly caved in. There were marks around his neck, as if he had once been hung by a rope. One eye was covered in a scar, and the good one looked lifeless. He was thin and wan, his skin so pale to be almost the color of dead flesh. One look at him as he walked over with two guards flanking him made Tyrion's skin crawl. This was a man who should not be alive.

"Are you Beric Dondarrion?" Tyrion asked, wondering how this man could have survived so much.

"I am," Dondarrion replied. " You are Lord Tyrion Lannister, are you not?"

"I am. What happened here?"

"My men and I tried to surrender and Ser Gregor attacked us instead of listening to reason."

"I need no reason to put a rope around your neck," the Mountain growled at him. "Ser Amory hung you once and you still live and I killed you once before as well, Lightning Lord. This time I will burn you to make sure you don't rise again."

This was a delicate point, Tyrion thought, and he had to walk carefully here. The Mountain was not known to be a man of patience or reason. "I think it would be best if we bring him and his men to King's Landing to await the King's justice."

The Mountain growled and glared at him. "Waste of time to drag him so far when he will only die by the King's command."

"We will not go to King's Landing," Dondarrion said quickly and Tyrion thought him mad to tempt the wrath of the Mountain. "We have been pardoned and are free men."

"You are outlaw scum!" the Mountain shouted.

"No more than you," Dondarrion said back calmly. Now he looked at Tyrion directly. "We have been pardoned by you lord father, Tywin Lannister. When these men approached this village we displayed a peace banner and asked for a parley to explain, but they would not listen. Apparently word did not reach Ser Gregor of our pardons."

This business about a pardon puzzled Tyrion. "Nor I. Perhaps you best explain."

Dondarrion turned to the other prisoners. "Thoros, the papers!" he shouted and then a large man in faded red robes arose from the group of prisoners and walked forward, hands out to show he meant no harm.

"Thoros of Myr," Tyrion said in surprise. "You are a long way from King Robert's banquets and melees."

"Quite so," said Thoros. "You as well, my lord."

"The banquets I enjoyed but I was never one for the melees," Tyrion replied and then got down to business. "Dondarrion is blathering on about some pardon my father gave you. Your proof?"

Thoros pulled two small scrolls out from his robes and handed them up to Tyrion on his horse. "We captured a rider in the night. He said he was from Harrenhal and Lord Stark and Lord Tywin sent him out to find us. He gave us these papers. We tried to tell these men but they would not listen and attacked us."

Tyrion unrolled the first scroll and it was a letter signed by Eddard Stark saying that the peace had been made and all men under arms fighting for the Starks or the Tullys were pardoned and free to return to their homes. The second was from his father and said basically the same thing, except under his sigil and signature. He read both out loud and then Ser Gregor spit on the ground.

"Piss on that. Stark is a traitor. His word means nothing."

"No, but my father's does," Tyrion told him. "These men have been pardoned by him. They are free to go."

"Only the King can give such a pardon," the Mountain shot back.

He truly wanted to kill them, Tyrion thought. He shook his head. "My father is Hand of the King, and as such his word has equal weight as the King's."

"I want to see him dead!" the Mountain shouted as he looked at Dondarrion and then his massive sword was out. Tyrion could feel Bronn move his horse closer to his, but no one else made a move, which Tyrion was thankful for.

"That we can't allow," said Tyrion calmly. "My father would be quite angered if he found his pardons were ignored. And you know how my father is when he is angered. Peace has come to these parts, Ser Gregor. It is time to move on to the next war in the south. There will be plenty of men for you to butcher there."

The Mountain said nothing, glared once more at Tyrion and then Dondarrion and Thoros. Finally, he sheathed his sword.

"My men!" he shouted. "Ride!" Soon the long column of cavalry and wagons was gone down the Kingsroad, a column of dust marking their passage.

"See, gentlemen?" Tyrion said after Ser Gregor was gone. "He's a reasonable fellow after all."

"My thanks," said Thoros as Tyrion handed back the scrolls. Tyrion could see his hands were shaking. If they had been ten minutes late these men would have all died.

"I think we both need a drink," he told Thoros.

"Yes, indeed," the red priest said with a big grin.

"We have some wounded and all are in need food and drink." Dondarrion added.

"Of course," said Tyrion. "Ser Jason, see to their needs. And we may as well make camp here for the night. But a little ways upwind from the smoke, if you don't mind."

"Of course, my lord," Ser Jason replied and went off to give the orders.

An hour later camp was set up and they set to work taking care of the dead and wounded. The dead they hastily buried in a common grave at the edge of the village. Soon after supper was prepared, Tyrion had Dondarrion and Thoros as his guests in his tent along with Bronn as Pod served wine and food.

"What now, my lords?" Tyrion asked after they had eaten and were served more wine. "Your war is over. King Robert is dead, Ned Stark is sworn to take the black, and his son and the Tullys have made their peace with my father."

"Many of our men's homes are in the south," said Thoros. "And mine was at King's Landing. I don't suppose I'd be welcome there."

"I wouldn't advise returning," Tyrion told him. "Joffrey is apt to ignore any pardons and my sweet sister enjoys tearing up any important documents. As for the south, I wouldn't go their either. With my father soon free to move, I am sure it is a matter of time before Renly and Stannis and he come to grips."

"Where is Ned Stark now?" Dondarrion asked. He had barely touched any food and drank no wine, Tyrion observed.

"On his way north," Bronn answered. "The Kingslayer was supposed to be traded for him and his girls by now."

"Yes," said Tyrion. "If you wish to join him I would head for the Twins. Robb Stark is to marry one of the Frey girls."

"There's a fool's idea," said Thoros with a laugh as he drank deeply.

"Actually his mother's, so the rumor I heard at Riverrun said," Tyrion told them and then explained what had happened. For a long few hours they drank and talked on the war and all the news and what had gone on in the south and the north and even in the far east. Tyrion found them both amiable fellows, Thoros more so than Dondarrion, who looked as if he had just come from a funeral. Maybe his own, Tyrion thought. There had been many rumors that the Lightning Lord had been killed, twice or maybe even three times. The Mountain made one such claim, Amory Lorch another. What had really happened to him?

"You seem to have taken some wounds, Lord Beric," Tyrion observed.

"A few," he replied. "None so grievous as the ones I felt when I heard Robert was dead and Ned Stark a prisoner."

"Yes, that was a terrible business," Tyrion answered as Pod poured him some more wine. "I have been riding all over the Riverlands these past weeks trying to set that stupidity to rights."

"Is it true what happened to you?" Thoros asked.

"If you mean did Lady Stark take me prisoner to her beloved sister and her terrible little child, then yes. I would not recommend the Vale to anyone on a tour of the Seven Kingdoms, my lords. The hostess is a bit mad, the people clamor to see your blood, and the accommodations have only three walls."

Thoros nodded knowingly. "The sky cells."

"If not for Bronn here, I might have jumped," Tyrion told them, and then they started with more stories of their adventures, and as they drank and talked Tyrion found it was hard to believe he and they had once been prepared to kill each other, and had nearly met in battle at that village were Stark had found his daughter. They were quite happy to hear the news that Tywin Lannister was angry with Vargo Hoat and meant to see him dead before long.

"He's a real bastard, that Hoat," said Thoros in an angry tone. "We almost had him, at that village where we found Lord Stark and those boys."

"One of them was a girl, his daughter Arya," Tyrion told them.

"One of my men, Harwin, he told me after," said Thoros. "He's from Winterfell. He recognized her, even in her boy's clothes and under all the dirt on her face. Shame he's dead now. One of those we just buried."

Not long after that it was time to bed down for the night. Shae came to his tent as usual and after making love they lay under the blankets and talked.

"My lion, what will happen in King's Landing?" she asked and he sensed some worry.

"I know of a nice place where you can wait until I settle affairs. Then I will find a way to bring you into the Red Keep."

"Don't be too long," she said as she snuggled next to him and Tyrion kissed her hair and smelled her feminine scents and sighed deeply.

"No, it will be swiftly done. I am afraid I should miss you too much if I waited too long."

The next morning Tyrion gave Dondarrion and his men a wagon to carry their wounded and some supplies of food he gave them. Then they said goodbye as Dondarrion's men rode north and he and his column rode south again. Four days later they arrived late in the morning at the Gate of the Gods at the end of the Kingsroad.

They smelled the city long before they saw it, and then as they rounded a bend in the road and came over a small hill the whole of King's Landing came into view. Immediately Tyrion noticed the smell of burnt wood and decaying human flesh. Before them was a scene of desolation, with many burnt wagons overturned, bodies laying everywhere and the scattered belongings of a mass of humanity now dead or run away. As they came up the road they found a group of men working under the supervision of some gold cloaks, clearing bodies and debris off the road.

"What happened here?" Tyrion asked right away.

The leader of the gold cloaks dipped his head and looked up at Tyrion. "Lord Tyrion, you and your men are a welcome sight. We have been ordered to clear the road."

"Yes, but what happened here to clutter the road?" he asked impatiently.

"Two nights ago Ser Gregor arrived and the King immediately ordered him to clear away the remains of the rabble that were befouling our gates. Ser Gregor led a sortie of over three hundred men on horse and…well, this is the result."

Tyrion shook his head at the folly of it all. Smallfolk run down under the hooves of charging war horses, impaled on lances, slashed by swords, and forced to flee, if they could.

"Where are Ser Gregor and his men now?"

"The Queen sent him and half of them across the Blackwater to patrol yesterday and to scout on movements of Stannis' army that's supposed to be soon coming up the road through the Kingswood from Storm's End."

Before he left Harrenhal a raven arrived from Varys saying that Renly and Stannis were at each other's throats outside of Storm's End. But that was over nine days ago. At least Cersei had the sense to send out patrols. That was a wise move at least, to get the Mountain out of the city and let him do what he was best at. "And what of Renly's force, where are they now?"

The gold cloak looked at him in surprise. "Have you not heard, my lord? Renly Baratheon is dead."

A long hour later after they made their way to the Red Keep, Ser Jason got busy settling the soldiers and hill tribe warriors in the empty Hand's Tower while Tyrion went in search of his sister, with Bronn at his side. At her quarters they were told she was at a small council meeting. Outside the doors Ser Arys Oakheart stopped them and then allowed Tyrion to enter, but refused entry to Bronn.

Tyrion arrived without ceremony and simply walked to the council table, where Cersei, Pycelle, Varys, and Janos Slynt sat at the table. Tyrion thought on them all and wondered who would be foe or friend in their coming battles of wills. Cersei, his beloved sister, looking radiant as always, had despised him since birth, and would no doubt be a foe. Pycelle and he had never been friends, and had no reason to really, since he had little contact with the maester except for the need of an odd hangover cure. But he was a Lannister man and so he would do as Cersei commanded, and therefore he was a foe as well.

Varys was someone Tyrion was always wary of, wondering what secrets of Tyrion's he knew and who he told them to. He was slippery and he played all sides against each other, with his survival his main goal. How else could he have lasted so long in such a place with such a position? Friend or foe, Tyrion knew not yet. Tyrion knew little of Janos Slynt except he was an upjumped commoner who was now promised Harrenhal for his part in arresting…no, betraying…Ned Stark. How could he trust the man not to do the same to him one day? No, he needed someone he trusted in charge of the gold cloaks. Slynt would soon be a foe.

Of Petyr Baelish there was no sign and for that Tyrion was glad. He was definitely a foe. Tyrion hoped he was rotting in a black cell. As he took account of them, Tyrion realized he had no friends here at all. Ned Stark was right. I was a fool for taking on this task. The time for regrets was past, Tyrion knew, so he put on his game face and smiled broadly as they suddenly became aware of his presence.

"No need to get up," Tyrion said as they looked at him in surprise. "Greetings, my lords and my Queen. Why, dear sister, I think war becomes you. You look more lovely than ever."

"You've taken your time getting here," Cersei replied without even a hello. "Father wrote me weeks ago saying you would take his place."

"Yes, and I would have been here much sooner but I had a few things to sort out," Tyrion told her as he sat at the table directly across from her, with Varys and Slynt on his right and Pycelle to his left at the far end. "First, I had to find Ned Stark, then save him from some fools you sent to take him back here. Then I had to ride to Riverrun to make the peace, and finally to return to our beloved capital."

"I sent Ser Marcus to find Ned Stark after I learned Jaime was a captive," Cersei told him, her eyes hard as steel as she glared at him across the table. "I did not know Father had already sent you."

"Well, Ser Marcus is dead, and Ned Stark and his daughter Arya barely survived his stupidity. Thank the gods for that or luck or whatever you like for we would never have made peace with Robb Stark without them. Oh, by the way, Jaime says hello."

That peaked her interest, as he knew it would. "You saw him? He is well?"

"Yes, on both counts," Tyrion said. "He was enjoying the comforts of a lord's prison cell at Riverrun when I last saw him. We had a long discussion on many things. Family history for one, and especially about our adventures since I last saw him in Winterfell."

Cersei narrowed her eyes, and he knew she knew what he was referring to when he said 'family history'. For a second he thought she would be angry, but then she relaxed, knowing it would not do to have a family squabble in front of the others. "When will he be freed?"

"It should have already happened."

They were all looking at her now, and Tyrion knew they all knew the stories about her and Jaime. But she just smiled, making her look more radiant. "That is good to know. Then father and he will be free to fight Stannis' army."

"Yes, Stannis' army," Tyrion said next. "All by himself now, I understand. I have heard Renly is dead. The gold cloaks at the gate babbled on about some story about a woman killing him in his tent. The only thing that surprised me more than his death was the fact that a woman was in his tent to begin with."

Varys tittered. "We have just been discussing this, my lord. I have new reports from the south. She was not bedding him, she was one of his guards. A tall, strong woman, named Brienne of Tarth, so one of my little birds told me just last night. Stories differ on what happened but apparently in the early morning six days ago as Renly was in his tent preparing to go out to fight Stannis his throat was cut, through his armor, if you can believe that. She was the only one in the tent with him, helping him put on his armor. Ser Loras, as you can imagine, was furious and there was a terrible fight in and around the tent. She took on five of them and killed three and Ser Loras took a wound to his leg, but Brienne of Tarth died by his sword. As she lay dieing she claimed it was not her, that she loved Renly. She claimed it was a shadow, a shadow had entered the tent and killed Renly."

"A shadow?" Tyrion asked in puzzlement.

"She is blaming sorcery for her treachery," Pycelle stated.

"No such thing as sorcery," Slynt said swiftly. "She was spurned. She says she loved him. Renly married the Tyrell girl so she killed him. Happens all the time."

"I would not dismiss sorcery so lightly," said Varys thoughtfully.

"If she wanted to kill him, why wait till he put his armor on?" Tyrion asked. " And why did she not flee once the deed was done?"

"She had not the sense to flee, I suppose," Varys replied. "She was in shock, and then stayed and tried to proclaim her innocence but they gave her no chance. There may be more to this shadow report than we can dare imagine. I have learned that a red priestess of Asshai is now with Stannis. She prays to the Lord of Light and now so does he and his wife. Such priestesses are said to know many foul arts."

"I care not how he died," said Cersei with an air of impatience. "He is one less enemy to deal with. What of his bannermen? Have they all gone home?"

"Unfortunately not, Your Grace," Varys answered. "The reports now coming to me are that almost all of Renly's bannermen have gone over to his brother. Except for the Tyrells of Highgarden, the Tarlys of Horn Hill, the Rowans, and a few others."

"Bad news indeed," Tyrion said, his mind thinking fast on the new angles these events made possible. "There may be an opportunity here. Ser Loras does not love Stannis, much less so now if he thinks Stannis sent this assassin. If we can get Ser Loras to our side, perhaps we can get all of Highgarden and the others who did not go over to Stannis to join us."

"How?" Cersei asked, immediately interested.

"We must offer him something," Pycelle said. "The young man is a fearsome warrior. If he recovers from his wound, perhaps he would like a spot on the Kingsguard."

"That is up to the Lord Commander, Ser Jaime," Cersei said swiftly. "And the Kingsguard already has seven members."

"He has a widowed sister," Varys put forth next. "And Joffrey has broken his engagement with Sansa Stark."

Cersei seethed. "The King does not take the leavings of pretenders. Besides, she is certainly not a maid after being married almost a month past."

Varys giggled. "Do not be so sure, Your Grace. I believe the marriage was somewhat of a sham, a way to get Renly the support of Highgarden, while the Tyrell girl got what she wanted."

"A crown," said Tyrion, understanding what Varys was driving at. "Perhaps we can get to Loras through his sister. Someone must go to the Tyrells with an offer."

"You are suited for such a task," Cersei said with a sweet smile that hid her true purpose, to get rid of him. "After all, dear brother, you have had some experience at negotiations these last few weeks."

"No," Tyrion shot back quickly. "I have neglected my duties here far too long. Why, dear sister, why not you? Who better to offer a marriage contract than the mother of the King?"

"You're a bigger fool than I thought if you think I am leaving the city," she replied with venom.

"My lord, Your Grace," said Varys as he looked from one to the other. "Perhaps there is someone else who can do this for us. Lord Baelish."

"No," Tyrion said at once, feeling his anger rise.

"Why not?" Cersei countered. "If he does this task for us maybe we can forgive his whispers in the Stark ears, if they are even true."

Tyrion flushed with anger. "Oh, it is true, for certain. Do you think Catelyn Stark seized me and started a war that almost destroyed her family because she was a trifle bored with life? Baelish is responsible. I will see him punished!"

"We can always deal with him later, my lord," said Varys in a calming tone. "He will be sent with an armed escort, with orders to make sure he returns."

"Yes," added Pycelle. "We can give him a chance to prove his loyalty. And if he fails, then deal with him as you wish."

"Agreed," said Slynt.

"There brother, you are out voted," Cersei said with a smug smile. "We shall approach Lord Baelish and see what he can do in this matter."

Tyrion knew as Hand he had the power to override them but he had just arrived and did not know what was what yet. He had expected to have to butt heads with them but not so soon. He was also tired and weary from his many travels. He forced himself to calm down. "Very well. We have other matters to discuss. Now as for the city's defenses I…"

"Just a minute, brother dear," Cersei said. "What news from father? When will he arrive?"

She won her point about Baelish. It was time, however, to set things right. "First, here are my orders from our lord father," Tyrion replied, handing Varys the scroll his father had given him so many weeks ago. Varys opened it and read quickly.

"As expected, Your Grace," Varys told Cersei. "Your father has named Lord Tyrion to be acting Hand of the King in his stead."

"Yes," she said impatiently to Tyrion. "You have your scrap of paper. But know this, little brother, Joffrey is King and I am Queen Regent and I am in charge here. Now, what are father's plans?"

Still not ready to give up power, are you? Tyrion thought. No, especially not to him. He needed more time to understand what was happening here so he played along, for now. "Of course, Joffrey is King and you are Queen Regent. As for father, he did not tell me his plans."

She stared at him, and Tyrion knew she was trying to see if he was lying, hiding something from her so he could have more power. That was how Cersei thought, he knew that from years of experience. She never trusted anyone.

"How many men have you brought with you?" she asked next.

"Less than a thousand."

"Less than a thousand?" she repeated, seething. "Of what sort?"

"Six hundred Lannister cavalry, a few dozen knights, and close to two hundred men and women of the hill tribes from the Vale. Oh, and Bronn. He counts for a few dozen at least."

"Who is Bronn?" Slynt asked.

"A soldier of fortune in my employ," Tyrion replied.

"A sellsword," Cersei said with a sneer.

"A very skilled sellsword," Tyrion countered. "He saved my life several times and he captured Harrenhal almost single-handedly."

"Sounds like a fearsome fellow," Slynt observed.

"Quite so," said Tyrion, with a slight grin. Maybe you will find out how fearsome, he also thought, once I learn how you betrayed the last Hand

"I hope no damage came to the castle," Slynt continued. "It is now my seat, after all."

"Why, no additional damage, I assure you," said Tyrion. "Have you ever seen Harrenhal Lord Slynt?"

Now he looked embarrassed. "Er, no, actually, only once, from afar."

"Well, I'd hate to disappoint you. But it has been three hundred years since Aegon and his sisters attacked Harrenhal, and I dare say it may take another three hundred years to repair it."

"I will do my best to make it grand again," Slynt swore.

"If you are quite done discussing history, my lords, you may leave us," Cersei said in a cold tone. "I would like to talk with my brother alone. We will meet again on the morrow at the same time."

"Just a moment," Tyrion said. He looked at Slynt. "What has been done to ready the city for war?"

"Lord Slynt will report to you later," Cersei said and Tyrion was too tired to argue and let it drop. She wanted to discuss Jaime, he now knew, and she wanted no other ears around. The others rose, gave their goodbyes, and soon Tyrion was alone with his older sister.

"How is Jaime?" she asked right away.

"Soon to be back in your arms, sweet sister." Oh, he had wanted to say that for years. What would she do now?

She stared at him and for a moment he thought she might reach across the narrow table and slap him but then she relaxed. She didn't even look guilty or ashamed or anything. If anything she looked relieved. "How did you know?"

"I think I have known for years. Well, rather suspected I should say. Ned Stark could talk of nothing else. Claims you confessed when he confronted you."

"I did," she said without shame. "Apparently, Jon Arryn and Stannis discovered one of Robert's many bastards here in King's Landing. Stark followed the same clues and also found him. It now seems all three came to the same conclusion."

"That your children are not Robert's, but are Jaime's." He wanted to hear her admit to it.

"Yes," she said at once. "Does Father know?" Now Cersei did seem worried.

"Ned Stark mentioned it. Father does not believe it, he told me later, saying it was just Stannis' way to strengthen his claim for the Iron Throne."

She seemed relieved at that. "He must never have reason to believe it. It would kill him."

"I shall not be the one to cause his demise, I assure you. But he did meet this bastard Joffrey wanted dead. At Harrenhal. Name of Gendry, an armorer by trade. Wields a hammer well, like his father. Stark promised him a place in Winterfell and insisted that no harm come to him or there would be no peace. Father told me he could see right away the boy was Robert's son."

"And? Did he draw the same conclusions as Stark and the others?"

"If he did, he did not tell me. Did Stark ever get a chance to tell Robert?"

"Do you think I would have my head if he had?" Cersei replied. "Once the boar did him in, Stark had not the heart to tell him his children were not his as he lay dieing."

"Yes, the boar. Father said that was a shameful way for such a man to die."

"Such a man?" Cersei bristled. "What does Father know of it? Robert Baratheon, the great hero of the realm, was a drunken pig who called me another woman's name on our wedding night. He could barely remember one day from the next he was drunk so often. My great husband bedded every whore and tavern wench from the Arbor to the Wall. Did you know Varys says he has at least eight bastard children…no, seven…one is now dead."

That did not surprise Tyrion so much, since he already knew Joffrey was after these bastards. "Which one?"

She looked away before speaking as if ashamed of something. "A baby, daughter to one of Littlefinger's whores. Joffrey…he ordered Slynt's gold cloaks to do it. And they went after the other one, the one at Harrenhal now, but he had already escaped the city."

Killing babies would not bring him the love of his people, Tyrion thought with a shake of his head. "What other foolishness has my nephew been up to?"

Cersei looked at him now and he could see she was upset. "Beating Sansa Stark for one."

That surprised him. Could Joffrey be so unfeeling as to beat the woman he was supposed to marry? "How do you know this?"

"When he dismissed Sandor Clegane so easily I wondered what had gone on. I had the story from Ser Meryn. He was the one who did the actually beating."

"On Joffrey's orders, no doubt," Tyrion said as he shook his head in disdain.

"Clegane was quite put out at seeing her being beat and stopped him," Cersei continued with the tale. "Apparently one person in the Clegane family has some small measure of honor after all. After that Joffrey took a dislike to his pet dog."

"A disloyal dog is not much use to its master," Tyrion replied. But Joffrey was the real problem here, not the Hound. "We must take your son in hand before any more such foolishness costs us the support of the population of this city. I saw the remains of the mess outside the Gate of the Gods."

"It was happening before I knew Joffrey had even ordered it done."

A cruel idiot boy King giving foolish orders and blind fools were listening to him and obeying without question. It would ruin them all, Tyrion knew. "And where is our beloved King now?"

She shrugged a bit. "Probably playing with his latest crossbow, shooting birds or rabbits or whatever. He finds council meetings quite boring. At least he takes after Robert in that regard."

"He is not Robert's son."

"No, he is not. I told Ned Stark that I thanked the gods for that small mercy. Now I wonder if I had been wrong to say so," Cersei said. Her face was full of worry. "Joff, he's…he's…something is not right with him. He enjoys being cruel. The Targaryens, they wed brother and sister, and had madness in their house. Have the gods chosen to curse me because of my crime?"

"I know not," Tyrion said quietly, feeling a bit awkward. Was she seeking comfort? That he could not do. There was too much hatred in their past. "Speaking of crimes, Jaime told me all of what happened in Winterfell."

"Did he?" she said with a small sigh. "So much has happened since then I have almost forgotten that act of stupidity was the start of all this."

"Not the start," Tyrion told her. "Jon Arryn's death was the start. His wife thinks I somehow was involved in his death. While Jaime was quite ready to tell me all about you and him and Brandon Stark, he was quite adamant that you and he had nothing to do with Jon Arryn's death. Nor the footpad who tried to slit Brandon Stark's throat."

She bristled once more. "Jaime did not lie. We are blameless in both cases. And now Ned Stark accuses Lord Baelish of planting the idea that you provided the dagger to the assassin. Tell me true, little brother, since we are being so painfully truthful today. Did you try to put the little Stark boy out of his misery?"

"You wound me with such accusations, dear sister," Tyrion said in a slight mocking tone. "You know me not at all it seems. I have a soft spot for cripples, bastards, and other broken things. I am as blameless as you and Jaime. But someone wanted the Starks to think our family had something to do with the death of Jon Arryn and the attack on their son. Where is Baelish now?"

"Under house arrest, performing his duties, while awaiting trial."

Tyrion felt his anger rise. "I'd prefer if he rotted in a black cell."

"I am sure you would," she countered. "But his skill with coin is needed."

"Are there no other men in the city with a love of money? I am sure we can find someone."

"Not as skilled as he is. Not in time."

She had him there. "Perhaps. As for this foolish idea of sending Baelish to the Tyrells, he would enjoy such an opportunity to escape."

"Why should he escape?" Cersei countered. "He claims he is innocent. Claims the Starks are making the whole thing up. I have been waiting for you to give us any further evidence. Do you have any, besides stories Ned Stark has been telling you?"

"I have a letter from Ned Stark stating his case. I believe him and so does Father."

"Yes, the honorable Ned Stark," she said in a mocking tone. "He would never sully his honor with a lie."

"I see. A traitor's tale will not stand up. Are there no other witnesses?"

"Yes, to the fact that Catelyn Stark was here asking about a certain dagger. But no one saw her with Baelish. Even Varys failed to turn up any evidence of the conversation."

Tyrion shook his head. "Then this is pointless. If there are no witnesses, and if Stark's word is not to be believed, there is no point in bothering with a trial."

"I suppose we shall have to release our master of coin."

"Not yet," Tyrion replied. "Let him stew a bit on his future. Perhaps he will make a better envoy if he thinks his neck is still in a noose."

"Maybe all our heads will be in nooses soon enough," Cersei replied bitterly. "Father drags his heels at Harrenhal and all you bring me is a few hundred men."

"And me, dear sister. Don't forget that."

Now she laughed. "You? What possessed Father to name you acting Hand? Is he mad? You are no warrior or leader of men."

"Hands do not lead armies, at least not this Hand. They advise the King and do his dirty work. So I had best start my duties by seeing Slynt and the city's defenses before Stannis starts pounding on the gates. I shall be residing in the Hand's Tower as it is quite vacant at present." He stood to go and then stopped. "Oh, one more thing. I am sure this will make you happy."

"What is it?" she asked impatiently.

"Father told me to tell you not to worry about Myrcella."

Now she got very angry. "I do worry about her. My only daughter shipped off to Winterfell to be a hostage for six years! Of course, I am worried!"

"You did not let me finish. He said to tell you that she would never go to Winterfell. She will stay at Harrenhal until the war is finished."

That did surprise her, in a pleasant way. "But…what about his treaty with Ned Stark?"

"Well, like you dear sister, Father places little value on the written word. He did not tell me exactly what he has in mind, but he assured me Myrcella would be safe."

Cersei seemed relieved. "Good. And when will he march south?"

Tyrion shrugged. "I said I know not. So we had better be prepared for what Stannis Baratheon is bringing. I shall seek you out on the morrow after I have had time to look over the situation."

He left her then and directly outside the doors he found Bronn, leaning against a wall, looking bored.

"Pleasant talks?" he asked as they walked away.

"As well as can be expected. I am famished. And thirsty. Let's break bread and then we have much work to do."

They found the Hand's Tower a hive of busy activity, with his men moving in everywhere. The wild men and women took over several barracks, and the dining hall rang with laughter and the sound of drinking and eating. Inside he ate with them but only stayed a short time, leaving soon after with Bronn close behind him. First he found Slynt at the Mud Gate and then for the next two hours they talked and walked and looked over the defenses. There were plenty of weapons but too few men to man them. With Clegane's men in the Kingswood preparing to harass Stannis' march, there were less than eight thousand defenders for the city. Stannis could have ten times their number.

The next morning bright and early he and Bronn were outside the Mud Gate looking over the small naval force at anchor there. The ships were large and well manned, but were too few.

"Not enough ships," said Tyrion as he and Bronn looked at the Blackwater Rush from one of the busy wharves. Tyrion stared across the wide river and could see in the distance the beginnings of the Kingswood and the road that ran from the ferry landing point. Stannis Baratheon could be coming up that road any day now with a desire to kill anyone named Lannister.

"Bronn, how will he attack?" Tyrion asked as he brooded on things to come.

Bronn snorted and spit in the water. "Fucked if I know."

Tyrion rolled his eyes. "Make an educated guess if you would be so kind."

"Right," Bronn replied. "So…you got the Blackwater Bay out there and you got this river here. So he's got to get across both to get to the city."

"Sounds right," Tyrion said. "He has the ships to enter Blackwater Bay in strength if Varys' reports of his numbers are true. And he has the men to invest the city by land as well."

"He won't invest," Bronn said with certainty. "A siege would take too long. Your father will kick him in the arse if he tries that. No, he will come across the river and land on the shore and attack with all his strength. They will try to take the city in one go and then hit your father's lot when they get here."

"Sounds logical. Which gate will he attempt to breach?"

"Several at once if he's smart. He's got the numbers. You don't. Be like trying to stamp out a bunch of fires before they grow into one big one."

"But how will he cross the Blackwater?" Tyrion asked waving his arm to the river. "There are no bridges and no fords this close to the city. We control the few ferries at this point and I have given orders to have them sunk once the battle begins."

"He can cross upriver, but that means a long march up and a long march back down," Bronn explained. "Maybe he will send his ships in here to ferry his men across."

"That will be difficult to coordinate," Tyrion observed. "And we do have a small naval force here that would make Stannis' ships bleed if they enter the Blackwater Rush."

"Not enough ships."

"No, not enough. Well, let's hope Stannis spends too much time trying to take Storm's End so my father's armies can get here before he does."

As they walked off the wharf a messenger was waiting for them by the Mud Gate. "The King commands your presence Lord Tyrion," the messenger told them and they followed the man into the city. Twenty minutes later Tyrion and Bronn found Joffrey in a small inner courtyard of the Red Keep firing a crossbow at some running rabbits. He was surrounded by members of his Kingsguard and several members of court, all relaxing and eating and drinking from a small table filled with food and wine.

"Dear nephew," Tyrion said in greeting. "How fare's the hunting today?"

Joffrey looked at him as if he was something under his boot that needed scraping off. "You're late."

"So your mother has already told me, Your Grace. I had business to complete in the Riverlands. Business that helped secure peace with the Starks and freed your grandfather's army to come here."

"You should have reported to me at once," Joffrey said as he reloaded his crossbow. "You are my Hand and I am the King."

"Yes, you are," said Tyrion. "I did report, to the small council, but you were nowhere to be seen."

"I...I was busy. Those meetings are so boring anyway."

"Quite. By the way, your sister is fine and is now at Harrenhal."

"Good," he said. "And my uncle Jaime?"

Your father, don't you mean? "Should have been freed by now."

But Joffrey wasn't paying attention. "Loose!" he shouted and at one end of the courtyard a rabbit cage was opened and a small brown rabbit ran as Joffrey fired his crossbow. The bolt took the rabbit in the hindquarters and a cheer rang from all as Joffrey raised his fist in the air. "Did you see that?" Joffrey said in delight. The rabbit was making pitying squealing noises and one of the men nearby cut its throat with a sharp blade, its blood spilling onto the dusty stones of the courtyard.

"That's what I'll do to Stannis when he gets here!" Joffrey shouted to all and they cheered again. He turned to Tyrion with a look in his eye Tyrion did not like one bit. "My uncle Renly is dead. Soon my uncle Stannis will be too."

"Yes," said Tyrion dryly. "Seems like uncles are in season this year."

Joffrey looked at him in confusion and then laughed a bit, finally getting the joke, and then started reloading his crossbow. "When will my grandfather and his army get here?"

A question everyone wants to know the answer to, Tyrion thought. And they seemed to think I know. "He did not divulge his plans to me."

"Then what use are you?" Joffrey said with a sneer. "He should be here, not you."

"I couldn't agree more. But waging your war against the Stark's has kept him quite busy."

"My war?" Joffrey said in surprise and then turned angry. "I didn't start it. The Starks did when they captured you. It's your war more than anyone else's."

It was pointless to argue with him. "There may be something to that. Your Grace, I beg leave to depart. I must be off to attend a small council meeting before the noon hour. Will you attend?"

"No," he said as if that was a stupid idea. "I have things to do."

"Well, not to worry, we will make sure all is taken care of, Your Grace," Tyrion said and then with a short bow he waddled away, and Bronn fell in beside him.

"So that's our king," Bronn said with a snort.

"Yes," Tyrion replied through gritted teeth. "And may the gods have mercy on us and allow me to do my job without any more interference from that little shit."

The meeting was long and spent mainly in discussing the defense of the city and the movements of Stannis' army. "One of Clegane's men came with a message this morning," Varys said. "Stannis has broken off his siege of Storm's End and is half way through the Kingswood. He could be here in less than five days if they move fast."

"We must find a way to stop him," Cersei said and Tyrion could see the fear in her eyes. "Or at least delay him more. Who can we send to the Kingswood?"

Tyrion knew at once what he must do. "My wildlings would relish some action. I will send them across the river and set to making plans to hit Stannis' army on the march." He called Bronn in from the hallway and told him to get Shagga and Timett and the rest ready to move out in a few hours. Once that was done they set to talking about the Tyrells again.

"Baelish must be sent today to the Tyrells," Cersei commanded.

Varys spoke up. "I have learned that the remains of Renly's infantry which did not go over to Stannis are still massed twenty leagues to the south on the Roseroad, between here and Bitterbridge. Ser Loras is there recovering. His sister and father are there as well. Baelish could be there in two or three days."

"He must be told at once," Cersei ordered.

"Shall I?" Tyrion asked and she shook her head and snorted.

"You? No, I will not have your anger at him ruin this opportunity. I will do it myself. He will not refuse me."

"Be careful, Your Grace," Varys advised. "Lord Baelish is a slippery eel who will bandy words with you forever until he gets what he wants. You may think you have him in your pocket but in the end it is he who will come out ahead."

Cersei laughed. "Not to worry, Lord Varys. I have handle men all my life. Baelish is no different from any other. Excuse me my lords, I must attend to this at once."

She thinks too highly of herself, Tyrion thought, as his sister rose and was soon gone. Pycelle and Slynt then made their goodbyes and Tyrion was left alone with Varys.

"It is time we talked," Tyrion said immediately.

"Past time, my lord."

"Tell me what you know of this Baelish business and Catelyn Stark."

Varys sighed. "A tragic tale of love spurned. He was raised as a ward at Riverrun, did you know? He and the Tully girls grew up together. Was it no surprise he fell in love with one of them? But she was promised to Brandon Stark and when he died in this very castle, she was handed over to his younger brother. Littlefinger fought a duel with Brandon, a duel he lost. He still has the scars to prove it."

"I have heard parts of this tale," Tyrion said. "Baelish has oft bragged about taking the maidenhead of both Tully sisters."

"A tale Lord Eddard has not heard I am sure, or Baelish would have one more scar, one across his neck, a scar that would not heal. But it would be for nothing. Baelish may brag of his manly prowess but I happen to know Catelyn Tully went to the marriage bed a maiden. Baelish bedded only one Tully sister, Lysa."

"Not my favorite person in the realm."

"I should think not. I have also heard she was in love with Baelish and never stopped loving him, even when wed to Jon Arryn."

"An arranged married, was it not?"

"Yes, arranged by her father, who is now dead I have learned."

Tyrion was not surprised. "He was near death when I was at Riverrun. You may be surprised to hear this, but Catelyn Stark actually apologized for taking me prisoner."

"Indeed? Has she come to her senses and realized you had nothing to do with the attacks on her son?"

"Apparently," Tyrion answered. "You never believed that I was responsible, did you?"

"Not for a moment," Varys told him and Tyrion could not help grinning.

"Who do you think it was?"

Varys smiled. "If you say a name I may nod or I may shake my head but I will not say the name."

Tyrion laughed. This was a man he could spend days talking with. "If only I could shake you Lord Varys and all your secrets would fall to the floor to be gathered up and revealed."

"That would not do at all," Varys quipped. "I should have to leave in a hurry if that day comes. If certain people knew that I knew many things they thought secret, well, they would soon make me short a head."

"No doubt," Tyrion replied. "Now, back to my original query. Did Baelish tell the Starks I owned the dagger used in the attack on their son?"

"He did not, as far as I know."

Tyrion stared at him for a long moment, then grunted. "Ned Stark seems like a man who would not lie about such a thing."

"I am sure he did not lie."

"I am sure also," Tyrion replied. "But there is no proof what he says is true and because of recent events his word would mean little."

"Quite," Varys said. "I think a question you should be asking, my lord, is if Ned Stark tells the truth, why would Baelish tell such a story?"

"He wants animosity between House Stark and Lannister."

"Very good. Animosity he wanted, a war he got," Varys said. "Much better than what he expected, I am sure."

"But why?" Tyrion asked in frustration. "What is his game?"

"The game of thrones."

Tyrion scoffed. "Baelish? He is a minor nobody from nowhere. He could never claim the Iron Throne."

"That is true," Varys replied. "He may have someone else in mind with him behind them, pulling the strings. Who, I know not, and perhaps we will never know. Your father's army comes soon, battle will be joined, and if Stannis is defeated all will be right again."

"Not all," Tyrion seethed.

"You want vengeance for the wrongs done to you, my lord. That is understandable."

"Unfortunately, I shall have to put my vengeance aside for the moment. Cersei has need of Littlefinger to run her errands."

"If he leaves today we may have a chance of securing the Tyrell alliance."

"Yes," Tyrion said, an idea that was mine, he thought, but seems to have been taken over by my sweet sister. He was tired, so tired and he had only been in the city for less than two days. He needed Shae and he needed her tonight. He looked at Varys and then decided to risk it. "Speaking of leaving, is there a way to come and go from the Red Keep without anyone knowing?"

"There are many ways," Varys replied. "Now would this be for you to go or for your lady friend now sitting in a certain building in the city to come here?"

Damn the man! He was sure the surprise on his face was clear for Varys to see. "You are good at your job, I must say," Tyrion said, and could only chuckle over it. He should have known he could never keep her secret from Varys for long. "I think for now I would like to visit her. It is too soon to bring her in here."

"Very well," Varys said. "When shall you visit?"

"Tonight."

"I will arrange it."

"And what do you want in return?"

Varys giggled. "Why your friendship, Lord Hand."

"Is that all?"

"For the moment. Now, if you don't mind, I have many…"

"Just a moment. Do these secret ways leave the city as well?"

"Some do."

"I need you to do something for me, in case the city falls."

"Will the city fall?" Varys asked.

"Surely I do not know the answer to that."

"Nor I," Varys said. "But a man like you surely wants a plan of escape if it does. It so happens I am also such a man and have a plan already in place. How many will be going?"

"Myself, Bronn, my squire Podrick, Cersei, Tommen, and the King, for the moment." Yes, he would have to save his idiot nephew the King, much as it loathed him to do so. He had no desire to save Cersei either but if he escaped and he left her behind, his father and Jaime would not take that well.

"And the lady friend?" Varys asked.

"Yes, if possible."

"Then I shall arrange matters," Varys told him. "Just as a precaution, of course."

"Of course."

Later that night, as Shae lay sleeping in bed in the secret apartments he had acquired in the city, Tyrion crept quietly to the balcony and looked out over the sleeping, stinking capital. What will happen on the morrow? Or the day after? he thought. Where is my father? Why hasn't he sent word of his plans? And most of all, where was Stannis Baratheon and his army and ships? Tyrion drank some wine and sat and for long into the night he pondered, and worried. He now understood why Ned Stark had said the position of Hand was cursed. It had been but two days and already he regretted it. Yet, there was nothing to be done for it. He had to get on with the business of saving these fools from themselves, if possible.

_**Authors' Note:** Future updates may be slower to arrive since I am a college professor in Korea and I am about to start teaching a summer class next week. Also, I have to get to work on part two of my own fantasy book series, so time will be short the next few weeks. Thanks for understanding._


	20. Chapter 20 Gendry

**Ned Stark Lives! Chapter 20 Gendry**

Gendry tripped and fell and in an instant the sword was at his throat. "Now you are dead," she told him and then Arya Stark laughed and bent to give him a hand to get up. Instead he used his great strength to drag her down, but she quickly rolled away from him and was up, crouched low, with her wooden practice sword in front of her.

"No cheating," she said, but she wasn't angry, he could tell, and had a grin on her face. "Come on, get up, let's practice."

Gendry sat there and shook his shaggy black locks out of his eyes. "I've had enough. You win." He was sore all over and he knew he would soon be covered in more bruises. Every day she wanted to practice and was far better than he was. He could have easily taken the wooden sword out of her hands, but in a real fight with a real sword he would cut his hands to ribbons if he tried that.

Arya relaxed her stance and sat on the ground next to him. It was late in the afternoon, almost supper time, and they were in a clearing by a small stream in the Riverlands, somewhere near the Blue Fork. At least Gendry thought they were, because he had heard a soldier say that when they had stopped to make camp. All around them was the Stark army. Men were watering their horses in the stream, patrols were on the far bank, many tents were set up not far away, and the smell of cooking fires and the stench only a mass of mostly unwashed humans and their animals could make hung over everything. For two days they had marched, heading northeast towards the Twins. After Arya and Sansa had been reunited with their mother they spent three days waiting for word from Riverrun about the gold that Tywin Lannister had promised. Arya's brother had refused to move his army until he got word of the gold payment. Patrols also came back saying that most of the Lannister host had left Harrenhal. More patrols confirmed they must have gone south. Except for the garrison at Harrenhal, there was no mass of Lannister soldiers between the ruby ford of the Trident and Riverrun.

During that time they waited there was much activity in the Stark camp. Gendry was handed off to the master smith, a big man from Barrowton named Cletus who had two boy apprentices with him and was glad for a third, especially one who had trained with the great Master Mott of King's Landing. Gendry spent his days repairing armor and pumping the bellows and shoveling coal in the small forge that traveled with the army. He slept in a small tent with the other two boys. One was a blond boy of about twelve years of age named Timon, who wanted to be called Tim. He was funny and smiled a lot. The other was a sullen lad of about thirteen who had brown hair and whose name was Wilbert. Gendry tried to call him 'Will' but the boy had scowled and said he was Wilbert, not Will. Right away Gendry got the idea he was jealous, because Gendry was older and bigger and stronger knew more about armor than he did. Tim knew even less, and mainly pumped the bellows and shoveled coal and did what Master Cletus said to do.

Gendry ate with the master and the others, but while in camp in the morning after the first day, which she had spent mostly with her mother, Arya came to find him and she wanted to practice fighting. Master Cletus protested that first time, saying they had work to do, but when he realized the short boy with short hair was actually Lord Stark's daughter he gave Gendry permission to go off for an hour. That even brought more scowls from Wilbert.

After three days they started to march again, and there was no time to practice in the mornings so they did it when they stopped to make camp in the evening. Arya told him that she heard some of the gold had been paid, and also some high born lords on each side had been ransomed so her brother and father and the other lords decided it was time to move. That first day, there was a flurry of activity as the Stark host broke camp. Gendry helped load the forge and heavy anvil and all their tools in a wagon pulled by four strong draft horses. Master Cletus drove it, and the other two boys sat in the back. Gendry was given a riding horse by Lord Stark, which he rode alongside of the wagon. After an hour on the first day of the march Arya found him and rode alongside for most of the day. When they stopped she had her meals with her family, and slept in a tent with Sansa and the other girl, Jeyne, the one Ned Stark had wanted Gendry to make a match with. She was pretty enough, and closer to his age, but she was not for him.

Arya never talked about what had happened in Harrenhal between them in her room, but from the way her father talked to him, Gendry got the idea maybe she had some feelings for him as well. He was afraid to bring it up with her, worried she might misunderstand, or that he had misunderstood her father. She had said they should pretend it had never happened so he let it be. Besides, she was with her family now and he wanted to do nothing to cause them to get mad at him. Gendry had to wait for her to find him each day if he wanted to spend time with her, and he knew better than to approached her when she was with her family. He hadn't had words with her mother Catelyn Stark yet, but Ned Stark had visited him at the forge to ask how he was. Then on the first evening after the march began Arya's brother Robb came to where they had set up the forge.

The sun was slowly setting toward the horizon. Gendry had been repairing some chain mail and the others were doing various tasks. Robb Stark came up to them with four strong looking men behind him, no doubt his guards, Gendry thought.

"My lord," Gendry and the others said as they stopped their work and dipped their heads.

"I would like to have words with you Gendry," Robb said and then walk away without waiting for a reply, so Gendry put down his tools and hurried after him.

They moved behind the forge wagon and his guards kept a distance while they talked. Robb Stark was his age, maybe a bit older, and was shorter than Gendry but not by much. He had the auburn hair of his mother and looked more like her than his father and Arya. Gendry also knew this was the man who had captured the Kingslayer and had outwitted Tywin Lannister, so he was quite in awe of him.

"How are you?" Robb asked him and that surprised Gendry.

"Fine, my lord."

"Good, that's good," Robb replied and Gendry thought he actually looked like he was uncomfortable about something. "So, my father tells me you are coming to Winterfell with us."

"Yes, my lord."

"He speaks highly of you."

Now Gendry flushed. "He's been very kind to me."

"I know who you are," Robb suddenly said. "My father and your father were great friends for many years."

"I've heard, my lord."

"Did you know I have a half-brother, Jon Snow?"

"Arya told me. He's at the Wall, she said."

"Aye," Robb said. "My mother…she…she doesn't like Jon." Arya had not told him that. Gendry said nothing and waited for Robb to continue. "Because, well, you know who he is so I guess you know why she doesn't like him."

"Because he's like me, my lord?"

"Aye," Robb said and Gendry sensed a sadness there. "But he is my brother," he suddenly said in a fierce tone that surprised Gendry.

"That's good, my lord."

"Aye, it is. And now you are here and you are coming to Winterfell."

Gendry finally got what he was driving at. Another bastard in Winterfell.

"I won't go if it will cause trouble, my lord."

"No!" he said quickly. "You can come, my father promised you a place so you can come. But, this…friendship…with Arya…my mother has spoken of it and she is not pleased."

"I understand. But we are just friends."

Robb stared at him. "Arya is promised to another."

"Your father told me at Harrenhal."

"Has Arya spoken on it?"

"No, my lord."

"Well, just keep that in mind when we get to the Twins."

"I will, my lord."

"Good. I'll let you get back to your work." And with that he was gone.

Now, as Gendry sat beside Arya on the banks of the small stream, he wondered why she had not yet mentioned she was promised to a Frey boy.

"You have to move faster," she was saying to him. "You fight like a Westerosi knight. You are hacking and slashing and I can avoid it easily. You need to be a water dancer. Syrio says speed is more important than strength."

"I'm too big to be fast," Gendry told her. "All I have is strength."

She was looking at his bare fore arms, now covered in bruises from her whacks and scars from small burn marks from years at the forge. "Strong enough to lift the anvil all by yourself over your head?" she asked him.

"I can lift it, but not that high," he replied. "I know I could lift you and carry you over my head."

Arya laughed and he liked her laugh. There hadn't been much time for laughter before she rejoined her family. She turned and looked over her shoulder and her face fell a bit. "They might tell my mother if you did that."

Gendry turned and saw who she was looking at. About fifty feet away by some trees stood two Stark men at arms, wearing chain mail, and carrying shields, short swords, and spears. Robb had assigned them to guard Arya, she told Gendry, and despite her protests they followed her everywhere. Sansa had guards as well and Robb and her parents had said that after all they had been through they wanted no harm to come to them. Not that they needed them much. Within a hundred feet of where they sat Gendry saw many more men, on both sides of the small stream, and around them was another 17,000, if the numbers he heard were true.

"Yes, they would tell her," Gendry said to her comment about the guards. "Your mother doesn't like me, does she?"

"That's because she doesn't know you," Arya instantly replied as she plucked a blade of grass from the ground and twirled it in her fingers.

"No, it's because I'm a bas…"

"Don't!"

"All right. Because I am low born."

Arya rolled her eyes. "It's stupid, all their rules about who was born to who and who was married or not married. High born, low born, what's the difference! My mother knows you are the son of a king! How can you be low born?"

"A son the king never said was his."

"It's not fair," Arya told him. "You could have grown up in a castle, and had a wonderful life and now you would be king."

Gendry gave a short laugh. "I'm glad that never happened. If Stannis' army gets to King's Landing before Lord Tywin's the King might lose his head."

She shook her head. "No. If you had been Robert's first son no one would say you didn't belong on the throne. Stannis would have no reason to attack. There would be no war."

He hadn't thought of that. "Could be," he said. "But he never said I was his and so that's it."

"That's it," Arya repeated and then she sighed. "If only, many other things could be so different."

"What other things?" he asked. What was she talking about now?'

She scowled at him. "Things! About you and...oh, never mind!"

"Explain it. Don't get mad at me just cause I'm a stupid smith."

"You're not stupid!"

"Okay. But I still need you to explain what you mean by other things being different."

She leaned back on her hands and stared at the stream and was silent for a moment. "This must go into the Blue Fork," she said. "And north of the Blue Fork is the Green Fork and the Twins."

"I guess." Gendry had a rough idea of the geography of the realm but did not know it exactly. What was she talking about this for?

"I have to tell you something," she said suddenly.

Now he understood. Maybe she was finally going to tell him about the promise they made for her to marry a Frey boy. "I'm listening."

"When we get to the Twins…something's going to happen. I don't want you to be mad. Cause…cause…" But she couldn't say it and then stood and picked up her sword. "Forget it. Let's go."

Gendry stood with his wooden sword in hand and looked at her and decided to tell her so she would not think on it so much later. "I know already," he said quietly. "Your father told me at Harrenhal."

That surprised her. "He did?"

"Yes. You are betrothed to one of the Freys."

She sighed and kicked the ground. "I hate it. All for a stupid bridge."

"What?" This part he hadn't heard. She quickly explained.

"It sounds like they had no choice," Gendry told her.

"That's what they all said to me. They had to have the bridge to beat the Lannisters. And the price was Robb and me," Arya said and then she got an angry look on her face. "I won't marry a Frey. I'll kill him first!"

"You can't do that." He looked around to make sure no one had heard her, a worried look on his face.

"Why not?" she asked, and he shook his head.

"It will be nothing but trouble. Look, your father said…he said winter is coming. He said there would be no wedding for three or four years at least. Till you're a woman and spring comes."

"I know. He said the same to me," Arya told him. Then she laughed a bit. "Maybe the Frey boy will get kicked by a horse or fall in the river."

"Could be," Gendry said. Then he wondered if it was wrong to hope someone got hurt so she wouldn't have to marry him. "Whatever happens, I am sure it will all turn out for the best. Three or four years is a long time. Like you said, anything could happen. Come on, let's get back to the camp. I've got work to do."

But she stopped him. "You're not mad that I am betrothed?"

"Why should I be mad?"

"Cause…cause…of what you said in Harrenhal. In my room. When we had breakfast."

Gods, she wanted to talk about that. Gendry felt a flush creep up his face. "I thought we agreed to pretend that never happened."

"I know…but…it did happen."

He nodded. "I know. I'm sorry about that, and…"

But she interrupted him. "Why are you sorry? You said how you felt. Not exactly, but I understood. I know you like me. I mean, as friends yes, but also as…the way boys like girls. Right?"

"That's what I meant," he said in a quiet tone, knowing it was wrong, but not able to help himself. Gods, what had she done to him?

"Then what is there to be sorry about? You don't like me anymore?" She had that fierce look in her eyes and he knew she was getting mad.

"No, not that," he quickly told her

"Oh," she said and the fire went out of her eyes. "Good."

"Good?" Is she saying what I think she is saying?

She looked down at the ground. "Good, because…no one's ever liked me like that before." And then she looked up at him and this time the look in her eyes was very different. "I know I am still just a girl and you're almost a grown man and I'm high born and all that but…Gendry…I don't want to pretend that never happened any more."

Gendry felt his heart pounding and now he knew his face must be quite red. She was waiting for him to say something. "Neither do I. But…" Her eyes had lit up when he said that and he liked the look and he didn't want it to go away so he couldn't voice his objections. So she did for him.

"I know," she said as her face fell a bit. "We have to go on pretending in front of the others, especially my family. But we know, don't we? And that's all that matters, isn't it?"

"Yes," he said, feeling so happy. He wanted to do many things then, but knew he couldn't, not yet. It was crazy and somewhere inside he still knew it was wrong but he would wait, he would be patient and if he was careful maybe someday they wouldn't have to pretend they didn't care for each other anymore.

She was staring at him, smiling, looking at him with what could only be affection. Then she laughed and punched his arm again and it was if they had never had this conversation. "Come on, race you back to camp."

The next morning Gendry awoke to the sound of thundering hoof beats. He was in his in his small tent with the other two boys, when the noise woke them all. Bleary eyed, Gendry peered out and saw a mass of cavalry pouring though the camp, heading and moving across the nearby small stream. Gendry crawled out of the tent. For a moment he thought they were under attack and he was thinking of finding a weapon but then he realized they were all Stark bannermen. In their midst was the big one they called the Greatjon, bellowing to his men.

"Move your arses!" he yelled. "We got foes to kill! If we're late the ironmen will rape your daughters and burn your homesteads!"

"What's happening?" little Tim asked as he came out of the tent, with Wilbert beside him.

"War," said sullen Wilbert. "More war is all."

"He said ironmen," Gendry told them. "What's an ironman?"

Wilbert grunted. "Don't you know?"

"He's a southerner, so course he doesn't know," said Master Cletus as he came up to them. "Ironmen are from the Iron Islands, lad. Raiders, plunderers, rapists. I just heard that a rider came in the night from the Twins. Said the ironmen are at Moat Cailin."

"No!" said Tim in fright. "We'll never get home now!"

"Why not?" Gendry asked and Wilbert guffawed.

"Moat Cailin blocks the north end of the Neck," he said, speaking as if Gendry was stupid. Gendry wanted to smash him in the face but kept calm, having no wish to cause any trouble.

"Aye," said Cletus. "If they got Moat Cailin, we'll have to take it back before we can march home."

In half an hour, after a hasty breakfast, the rest of the army was up and on the march again. They moved fast this time, faster than before and must have made over ten leagues that day, and all were foot sore and saddle sore by day's end. He saw Robb and Ned Stark more than once riding along the column, urging them along, saying encouraging words. They stopped only for fifteen minutes to distribute bread and cold meat for lunch and then were on the move again. Rumors spread during the day and late in the evening when they finally made camp. Some said the ironmen were at a place called the Stony Shore. Others said they were at Seagard. Still more rumors said Moat Cailin had fallen.

That night they made camp late and for the first time in days Arya did not come to see him. As they ate their supper of bread and pease and boiled mutton, Gendry kept looking for her and she was nowhere to be seen. As the sun was setting Wilbert looked at him across the fire they sat around and snorted. "Your princess is not coming, is she?"

"She's not a princess," Tim said. "She's a lady."

"She doesn't like to be called either," Gendry told them, staring at Wilbert, wanting nothing more than to smash him in the face again.

"How you two end up being so friendly?" Wilbert asked. "You're just a commoner like us."

"We came from King's Landing together," Gendry told him. "We fought at the holdfast by Gods Eye. She saved my life."

Tim was wide-eyed. "How?"

"She killed a man that was trying to kill me."

"That little girl killed a man?" Wilbert scoffed. "What a pack of lies."

Gendry felt a rage come over him but forced himself to stay calm. "I don't care what you believe, you little shit. You know I'm a better armorer than you and you also know I could break your neck if I wanted." Now Wilbert was wide-eyed as well. "But I won't, cause that would cause trouble. You don't like me and I don't like you, so let's leave it at that. But push me too hard and maybe I won't care if I cause any trouble. And if you ever call me a liar again, I'll pound you with my fist so hard you'll sing like the steel does when I hit it."

After that Tim and Wilbert said nothing and Gendry got up and walked away, needing space to clear his head. He went though the camp, past many fires, and past the horse lines and supply wagons and just walked, not saying a word to anyone. Some men knew who he was now, having brought their armor to be repaired, and called for him to join their fires, but he just kept walking, feeling his anger slowly leave him. He knew he was strong and he could break that little shit's neck but that was not a good thing to do.

As Gendry walked he suddenly heard a girl's voice. He stopped behind a wagon and some tents and then heard the talking coming from one of the tents, where there was a light inside and the shadows of people on the canvas.

"How we will ever get home now?" said one voice.

"You'll see. Father and Robb will kill all those ironmen." It was Arya.

"Won't this ever end?" said another voice and then he guessed that was Sansa. The first speaker must have been Jeyne.

"You!" suddenly said a strong, harsh voice behind him. "What are you doing here?" It was a Stark guard.

"Got lost," Gendry said quickly as the man waved his spear at him. "Trying to find my way back to my tent.

"Who are you?" said a second man at arms, his sword out and pointed at Gendry.

"He's the smith!" Arya said sharply as she approached with Sansa and Jeyne behind her. "Leave him be!"

"Yes, my lady," said the one with the spear as he pulled it back and then the two guards walked off a bit but stayed nearby.

"What are you doing here?" Sansa asked him, and behind her Jeyne was looking at him the way she always did, as if she wanted to eat him. They were both wearing dresses and Gendry always felt awkward in front of high born ladies all dressed up.

"Got lost, my lady," he said, feeling very embarrassed, looking down.

"Really?" Sansa said as if she didn't believe him. "Or were you looking for my sister?" she asked next with a knowing look.

"Oh, shut up!" Arya told her sister. "He got lost. So what? Leave him be. Come on Gendry, I'll walk back with you."

"No," said a new voice from the growing darkness and then Catelyn Stark stepped toward them. "Go to your tent girls. Gendry, you come with me. It's time we talked."

Oh, boy, now he was in for it. "Yes, my lady," was all he could mumble and as he walked past Arya to follow her mother Arya looked at him in worry and then Sansa was dragging her back to their tent.

Gendry followed Lady Stark to a very large tent. Outside it were two guards with spears and swords. She opened the tent flap and went inside and then motioned for him to join her. Inside there were several lit candles and he got a good look at her as she sat at a small table. She had long auburn hair and fine features and Gendry could see that Sansa took after her like Arya took after her father. He stood waiting for her to speak first.

"First," she began. "I want to thank you."

Nothing could have surprised him more. "Sorry, my lady?"

"For helping Arya on the journey from King's Landing."

"I only did as your lord husband asked me to."

"Yes," she said. "But nonetheless I thank you. Now, tell me what happened."

"On the trip to Harrenhal you mean, my lady?"

"Yes, tell me it all, don't leave anything out. My husband and Arya have told me some things but I feel they are trying to shelter me from the worst of it. I would know the truth."

And so he began, telling her as much as he could remember, answering her questions as she asked them. Then when he got to the holdfast battle, he faltered and could not say it all.

"Tell me true," she said, her eyes boring into him. "Did Arya kill a man?"

He paused, took a deep breath and then told her. "Yes," he said quietly. "She saved my life."

She sighed heavily and closed her eyes for a long moment. "Lord Stark mentioned this, but not directly. But I dared hope it was not true."

"It's true. We all killed, those who survived. We had to, my lady."

Then her face turned hard. "They were looking for you."

"Yes. And Lord Stark."

She nodded. "Yes. But Joffrey wanted you."

"Yes. Joffrey wants me dead."

"Because you're Robert Baratheon's bastard son."

The way she said it made it sound ten times worse than it was. Her look was like stone and her words were harsh. "Yes, my lady. Lord Stark says so and I believe him."

"Tell me the rest," she then demanded. When he got to the part about the village and burying Lommy she stopped him.

"Arya helped you bury this boy?"

"Yes, my lady. Lord Stark said some words over the grave."

"Gods," she said in anger. "What a thing for children to have to do."

He said nothing and then she asked him to continue and he told her about Harrenhal and how Arya had breakfast with him most days and helped at the armory.

"Not things a young lady should be doing," Arya's mother said.

"I know. But…she wanted to come. I couldn't refuse her, my lady."

"Or you didn't want to refuse her?"

He gulped again. "Maybe. Yes. My lady." He couldn't look at her and cast his eyes away.

"My daughter Sansa told me Arya has taken a fancy to you. My husband says you are just friends. Which is it?"

There it was. Now he was in for it. "Ah…not sure…I…"

"Don't lie to me," she said sharply. "Which is it?"

He wanted to lie, but if he did and she already knew the truth and was testing him, he was finished. "I…she…yes, we have some affection for each other. My lady."

She shook her head. "This won't do."

His heart sank. "I know she is betrothed."

"Yes. To a Frey boy." The way she said this last he thought she didn't like it any more than Arya did. "She will meet him for the first time at the Twins. It's important that this meeting go well. The ironmen are attacking Moat Cailin and the Stony Shore. There are other troubles in the north. It's important that we move as fast as we can. For that we need Walder Frey's bridge. My husband says we have more than enough men to take the Twins, but it would be costly. And a quarter of our force is bannermen to the Twins. So…we need that bridge, without a fight."

"I understand, my lady."

"Arya is strong willed," Lady Stark said with a sigh. "She always has been. She carries that sword around, she dresses like a boy, and now she has eyes for you. She doesn't want to marry the Frey boy, but it may come to it eventually."

"I know."

"Or it may never happen."

Gendry said nothing, just waited for her to continue and then she looked at him and he could see the anger in her face and she said what he feared she would say. "But know this. She will never marry you. If you have any notions of that get them out of your head this instant. My husband promised you a spot in Winterfell and you shall have it. But I will not have a bastard marry my daughter and sully my home."

Gendry's heart sank to his feet and he gritted his teeth and kept all he wanted to say inside. She was Lady Catelyn Stark of Winterfell. He was nobody, just a bastard of a drunkard.

"What's this?" said a voice and then Ned Stark was in the tent. He looked tired and was dressed in chain mail and had a long sword at his side, with his big sword Ice strapped to his back. Now Lady Stark looked like she had been caught doing something she shouldn't have.

"We've just been talking, my lord," Gendry said quickly. "Your wife wanted to know about our trip from King's Landing."

"Aye?" he said, looking from one to the other. "And what did you tell her?"

"Everything, my lord," he said.

"Aye. Everything." There was an awkward silence.

"I should be going, my lord. My lady." And then Catelyn Stark nodded and Gendry turned without another word and went out into the cool air. He walked and walked, his mind a whirl and before he knew it he arrived where the forge was and his tent, and she was waiting for him, by the wagon.

"What did she say to you?" Arya asked right away as they walked behind the wagon.

What could he say to her? He had to lie. "She asked about our trip from King's Landing, is all."

"Oh. What did you tell her?"

"Everything."

"Everything?" she repeated. "Even that I killed someone?"

"Yes."

"Oh…okay."

"Sorry."

"No…I should have told her myself. But I couldn't."

He leaned against the wagon and she did the same. "Do you ever feel bad for killing those men?" he asked her.

"No," Arya instantly replied. "They wanted to kill us. We had no choice."

"No, we didn't."

"We almost died," she said and he sensed some fear there but said nothing about it.

They were silent for a minute. And then he felt her hand reach out and take his right hand and squeeze it tight. Her hand was small and warm and felt good. But he also knew they shouldn't be doing this. "Arya…"

"Just for a moment," she said quietly leaning against the wagon looking up at him in the half light given by the moon and nearby camp fires. Now both of her hands were on his. "Your hands are so rough," she said as she squeezed tight. "And strong."

"Hard work since I was a boy."

"Gendry…" she started to say and then she let go of his hands and reached up and pulled on his shirt and dragged him down and she quickly kissed him, once, quickly, on the lips, and it was soft and warm and nice, and then it was done and he was terrified, because he knew at that moment he would do everything he could to make sure what Catelyn Stark commanded of him would never come true.

"I…I just wanted to do that," she was saying. "Just once. I...I never kissed a boy before. I don't want to die without knowing what it was like."

He couldn't help but smile. "So? What was it like?"

She smiled, too. "I want to do it again. But…"

"We shouldn't."

"Right." She went to punch his arm like she usually did…but then she stopped. "Good night."

Arya turned and walked away and then looked back at him, laughed once and then turned and ran.

"Gods!" he said out loud as he sank to the ground by the wagon. How had this happened to him? It was madness, he knew, but it also felt right, despite what her mother had said to him.

They were up early the next day and again they were pushed hard. The land was hilly, and damp, and there were many small brooks and streams, which Master Cletus said ran into the Blue Fork. These were its head waters. And so progress was slow, and they barley covered half the distance of the previous day, but by the end of it the land was getting drier and flatter and they knew they were past the Blue Fork headwaters. Ahead and to the northwest was Seagard and early the next morning those men from Seagard with the army left to go to their homes, to make sure no ironmen were raiding their lands. Many hundreds left, Gendry guessed, but he knew not how many.

As they pushed on ahead, the baggage train at the rear kept falling behind. The forge wagon was here, mixed in with the cobbler's and leather worker's wagon, and the butcher's wagon, and the baker's wagon with its two mobile ovens. Also there were many supply wagons and at least a hundred pigs, thirty cows, and a few goats and many chickens in cages on wagons. A rear guard of twenty cavalry men and three knights brought up the rear. But the whole group kept falling behind as a wagon got stuck here, or some pigs ran off there, or the way was too muddy or the trail hard to follow.

By midday, Gendry and Arya were riding along beside the forge wagon on its right side, with her two guards nearby on horse back and Tim and Wilbert sitting on the back of the wagon as Master Cletus drove it. They were on a trail in a small stretch of forest. There was no one ahead of them and behind about thirty yards was the butcher's wagon. The whole column was strung out on the line of march.

"I smell the sea," Gendry said suddenly and there was a salty taste in the air.

"What?" Arya said as she sniffed the air. "Maybe. But we're not that close to Seagard."

"I don't know. It smells like the sea and rotten fish, like the wharves at the Mud Gate at King's…GET DOWN!" Gendry yelled and then as he yelled he reached over and pulled her down and they both fell from their horses into the mud of the trail. Just as she was about to scream at him in anger, the sound of arrow bows _twanging_ came from both sides of the trail. Gendry looked up and saw Wilbert get an arrow in the chest and fall off the wagon without a sound. Master Cletus got one in the left arm and he fell of the wagon on the other side and little Tim ducked to the floor of the wagon just in time to avoid one aimed for him. Then their two horses took off running up the trail.

"Get up! Get Up!" he shouted at Arya and in an instant she rolled to her feet and had Needle out and his heavy hammer was off his belt and in his hand.

From both sides of the trail came war cries and then men were attacking, large men, with beards and carrying heavy axes and swords, dress in grey clothing of some type and chain mail. On their chests was some kind of sigil but Gendry knew not what it was or cared. Behind them he saw Arya's two guards in trouble. One had an arrow sticking out of his armor and the two of them were surrounded by at least four attackers.

"Ironmen!" Arya yelled and then they were on them. Arya and Gendry had their backs to the wagon, the same wagon where she had kissed him the night before, but now they were in a battle for their lives. A large man charged and screamed his war cry. He swung his axe and it just missed Gendry's head as he ducked and it stuck in the wooden wagon side. As he struggled to remove it Gendry swung his hammer hard and smashed in the ironman's face and the man fell with a gargled scream. Arya had taken on another ironman with a sword who laughed at her.

"Little boy, put away your steel or you will die!"

"I'm not a boy!" she yelled and stabbed him deep in the leg above the knee where he had no armor. The man yelled and hopped away as dark red blood spurted from his leg. He tried to fight back but his leg buckled and he fell. Then another attacker was there. Gendry had ripped the first one's axe out of the wagon and swung it but the ironman facing him deflected it neatly with his shield and the axe was knocked from his hand. Then he was on Gendry, swinging his own axe. But as he raised his axe arm Arya stabbed him in the arm pit from the side and Needle made a small hole in the chain mail, not very deep, but enough so he screamed and dropped his axe. Then Gendry tackled him and they both went down and Gendry swung his hammer hard and buried it in his face and this man would rise no more.

Now the battle fever was on him and the screams of men and horses and the sound of clashing steel rang out down the trail. The whole baggage train was under attack. He felt sudden pain and something was in his right shoulder and he saw an arrow had entered at a glancing blow, not going deep, but punching through his shirt and under his flesh, drawing blood. He did not know if it had happened at the beginning or just now. He ripped the arrow out and then he saw Arya dueling with two of them. She was so fast, dipping and sliding away, and jabbing while they were hacking and missing and then she was between them and past them and she stabbed one behind the left leg and the other in the exposed throat as he turned. Both men yelled in pain and fell and she was on them lightning fast, stabbing anywhere there was no armor. But all of a sudden a third man charged from around the front of the wagon and was behind her and he had a massive axe and he was bigger than any of them. The axe was over his head and coming down and Arya didn't see him. Gendry cried out and leaped and smash his hammer down on the ironman's iron helm. It stunned him badly and he dropped his axe. Then the two of them fell on each other and were wrestling on the ground and neither had room to use any weapon so it was a contest of strength. Gods, he was strong and his arms were reaching to choke Gendry but Gendry smashed his big right forearm into his face and the blow staggered the man. Gendry pushed him off and then Gendry was on top and he smashed him again and again with his fists until the man was not moving anymore. Then a piece of steel flash by his eyes and Arya had buried Needle in the man's left eye and he would never move again.

Gendry stood next to Arya and they looked around for more enemies and two more were on the trail ahead of them, both with bows and arrows notched. Just as they got ready to fire came a yell of "_Winterfell_!" and horse hooves were pounding and Ned Stark was charging on his horse, his sword in hand, a grim look on his face and he was hacking and slashing at the two bowmen who had no chance to fire their arrows before they died. Arya dragged Gendry off the trail and then her father was riding fast past them and he kept on going and more men on horseback followed him down the trail and for many minutes they heard the sound of battle.

Gendry and Arya looked at each other with wide eyes and then they looked and saw the carnage around them where only minutes before it had been a peaceful forest trail. At least six ironmen were dead by their hand. As the battle fever left him Gendry felt the agony in his shoulder and he realized blood was pouring out of his arrow wound. Then Arya's brother Robb and many more men rode up.

"Arya!" her brother yelled. "Are you hurt?"

It was a fair question. She had blood on her in many spots. "No," she yelled back right away. "Father went down the trail! Go help him!"

"With me!" Robb yelled and then he and his riders rode off hard down the trail.

Suddenly, Arya realized Gendry was hurt. "You're bleeding!" She helped him to the back of the wagon where they found little Tim cowering.

"Is it over?" he asked in a whimper.

"Yes," Gendry said. "Here at least."

"Get me something to help stop the bleeding!" Arya shouted at Tim. The boy scrambled around and found a shirt and gave it to her.

"It's Wilbert's," he said, and then he looked over the side of the wagon. "Wilbert's dead."

"Where's Cletus?" Gendry asked as Arya pressed the wadded up shirt on his wound.

"I'm here," said Cletus in a weak voice, as he stood on the other side of the wagon. Gendry looked and at Cletus' feet were two dead ironmen, each one looking like his head had been caved in with a hammer blow. If Cletus hadn't been behind them they would have been overwhelmed. Cletus had an arrow in his left arm but then Gendry saw a more terrible wound in his stomach, and blood was pouring out.

"Arya, help him!"

She helped Cletus get in the wagon and he lay down and let out a groan of agony. Then more people were running down the trial, many Stark spearmen and other foot soldiers. But they didn't go far because soon Ned Stark and his son were riding back.

Ned Stark yelled at the foot soldiers "Check both sides of the trail. Kill any ironmen you find that resists." As they moved to obey his commands, Ned Stark and his son leaped off their horses and ran to Arya.

"Are you hurt?" her father asked as he bent to her, his face full of worry. "Are you wounded?"

"Not my blood," she said as she continued to help Gendry.

"Gods," Robb said as he looked around them at the dead ironmen. Arya's two guards were also dead, but they had killed at least two more ironmen before falling. "What happened?" Arya's brother asked them

"Gendry smelled the sea," she told them.

"I…thought it was the sea," Gendry said as he winced in pain. "It must have been them."

"Aye," said Ned as he looked at one of the dead men. "Ironmen. Salt and iron in their blood. How did they attack?"

"I saw one, with a bow, beside a tree, up the trail," Gendry said.

"Then he dragged me off my horse before the arrows came at us," Arya said. "Saved my life, he did."

"No, I…no."

"Yes, you did," she told him as she pressed the bandage into his shoulder. "You owed me. Now we're even."

"Who killed these men?" Robb asked.

"We did," Arya said and then Robb looked in awe at her sword at her side, full of blood and at the blood on her everywhere and on Gendry.

"Cletus is dead," said Tim in a sad voice. They all looked and saw he was right.

"Damn," Gendry swore. "He was a good man."

Ned Stark nodded. "Aye," he said and looked at Tim. "Cover him with something lad." Tim found a blanket and covered Cletus.

"How did this happen?" Robb yelled in despair.

"Because we were stupid," his father said grimly "We pushed too hard, and we left our weakest element behind. They must have come from near Seagard. But Seagard is a walled town. They came inland looking for easier pickings. Saw us, waited, watched, and then tried to pick off the weakest part."

As they stood there another man came riding up from back down the trail, one of the knights or lords, Gendry didn't know which one. Glover maybe.

"We have at least twenty-three dead and fifteen wounded, Lord Stark," he said. "And maybe six taken prisoner. All serving women and girls."

"Get a mounted party together," Ned Stark commanded at once. "They will head to the sea and their ships. Run them down and get back our people!"

"At once, my lord!" the man said and then rode off shouting orders.

Then some men came back from the forest dragging a wounded ironman with them. He was bleeding from his left arm. They forced him to his knees in front of the Starks.

"Who sent you?" Robb demanded.

"The King of the Iron Islands," the man said, full of pride and unafraid.

"Where is Theon Greyjoy?" Ned asked him quickly.

"Prince Theon you mean?" the man said with a laugh. "Came home from your green lands wearing skirts and gold trinkets he bought, so the men are saying in the taverns of Pyke. Of him, I know naught else except you Starks turned him into more a woman than a man."

"How many men with you?" Ned asked next, ignoring the insults.

"Piss on you Starks," the man said and that got him a blow to the head.

"Attacking our baggage and servants? Some brave lot you ironmen are," said Robb with a snarled.

"We take what we want," the prisoner growled back. "It is our way. We pay the iron price."

"Aye," replied Ned. "And we have traditions, too." He pulled Ice out of the big scabbard on his back and handed it to Robb. "You are the Lord of Winterfell now. Do your duty."

Robb nodded and took the big sword. He held it with two hands as they bent the prisoner to the ground. There was no chopping block so they lay him across the dead body of one his comrades.

"Look away," Ned said to Arya.

"No," she told him strongly and then he sighed and turned back to Robb and nodded once.

"I, Lord Robb Stark of Winterfell, condemn you to death for the crime of brigandage," Robb said to the prisoner. "Do you have any last words?"

"What is dead may never die!" the man screamed and then Ice rose and fell swiftly and the man screamed no more.

Robb cleaned Ice of the blood and then Ned handed him the scabbard. "It's yours to wear. Come, let's get these wagons off the trail. We should make camp up ahead for the night and sort out this mess."

Just as they started to prepare to go up the trail, a shout came from in front where many armed men were. "Let me through! My daughter is back here!"

The soldiers parted and there was Catelyn Stark, her face full of fury and fear, and then she saw the carnage around the wagon, and she gasped. Then her eyes fell on Arya, and the condition she was in and she ran right to her. "Are you hurt? Get the maester!"

"I'm not hurt," Arya said for the third time. For a brief moment Lady Stark seemed relieved but then she got angry. She glared at Arya. "You shouldn't even be here! You should be with us, surrounded by many guards." Then she glared at Gendry. "You…you, that's why she is here!"

What could he say? She was right. He was about to speak when Arya shouted at her mother. "He didn't attack me! He didn't try to kill me! I rode here because I wanted to! Beside, Gendry saved my life. Twice."

She looked surprised at this and turned from her daughter and looked at Gendry quickly and then to her husband.

"Aye," he said. "He pulled her off her horse before the first arrows came in on them."

"And he jumped one of them about to attack me from behind," Arya added.

Lady Stark was about to say more when Ned Stark put a hand on her arm. "She is fine, but others are not," he told his wife. "We can discuss this later. We have wounded, some worse than Gendry."

For the first time she saw Gendry was hurt and her eyes softened somewhat. "Is it bad?" she asked.

"Not too bad, my lady," Gendry said.

"Come on, let's move," Ned Stark said and then they loaded Wilbert's body and the two dead Stark men who had guarded Arya on the forge wagon and cleared the trail of dead ironmen. A soldier jumped on the wagon and took the reins and then they started moving.

When they reached the main force it was a hive of activity, with tents going up, wagons being unload and men moving everywhere to place guards and to make sure no ironmen were nearby. Gendry sat on the ground outside the maester's tent with the other wounded. He was not the worst by far. One man had lost his left hand and was white as a bed sheet. Another had two arrows sticking out of him. One man, the butcher Gendry thought, had a deep wound in his thigh and he had bled to death before they could get him to the maester. He lay on the ground outside the tent next to the bodies of Cletus and Wilbert and many others. Nearby four men were digging a big hole for the dead.

Arya stayed with him and would not leave despite her mother's demands she change her clothes and clean off the blood.

"No!" she shouted. "I'm not leaving till I know he is fine."

"Then the maester will see him now," Lady Stark declared.

"There's worse off than me, my lady," Gendry said and she saw he was right.

"Then I will lend a hand," she started firmly. With that she went into the maesters' tent.

"She's mad at you," he said to Arya.

"I don't care," she replied. "I'm not leaving you."

Just then Sansa and Jeyne arrived, carrying two wine skins with them. They both got one look at them, sitting on the ground, covered in bloody splotches, and Sansa's face blanched and then Jeyne gasped, dropped her wine skin and ran away.

"Gods, it's true," Sansa said in shock. "We were at the front of the column. I…I brought wine. I thought you might need it."

She handed them one skin and gave the other to some of the other wounded. Gendry took a long drink and it was sour but felt good going down. He handed the skin to Arya and she took a drink, made a face and then gave it back to him. "No more for me."

"What happened?" Sansa asked them as stood there.

They told her the story as best they could, and then she looked at Gendry's shoulder. "Is it bad?"

"No," he said and then the maester's assistant was calling for him. Arya and Sansa helped him stand and then led him to the tent. Sansa's bravery ended at the tent flap and she told him to take care and left them.

Inside it was like a slaughter house. The air was a heavy with the smell of blood and sweat. There was a table and the man with the two arrows in him was laying on it, groaning in pain. On the ground next to the table was a bucket with bloody rags in it. Blood was on the ground and Lady Stark, standing next to the maester, now had some blood on her hands and dress. The maester was a middle aged man with jet black hair and thick eyebrows. His chain wasn't very big but he was said to be skilled with battle wounds, having been a soldier once many years ago before he forged his chain. On a small table were the tools of his trade, many knives, a saw, some bottles and jars, and things that Gendry did not know were for.

"Sit there and take off your shirt," the maester told Gendry. There was a small chair near the entrance and Gendry sat. Arya helped him take off his shirt. "Don't throw it away," he told her. "I only have two."

At the table the maester was giving the wounded man a small cup with some milky substance. "Milk of the poppy," he told the man. "Now drink this up and I will be with you in a minute."

After the man drank it he sighed and then fell asleep. The maester came around and took a look at Gendry's wound.

"Not too deep," he said. "But it will need stitching or it will bleed more. First, some boiling wine to remove any corruption."

"Gods, do you have to?" Gendry asked in fear.

"Yes," said Arya and her mother at the same time. Gendry only nodded and took another long drink from the wine skin.

"That's good," said the maester. "Drink more, it will dull the pain. Lady Stark, it is time."

She went to the table and started to help the maester. In the corner of the tent Gendry now saw a small brazier with a kettle on it. "Boiling wine," he mumbled and drank some more.

"It will hurt, but it must be done," Arya said. "I'll be here, don't worry."

He drank again and nodded. Gods, he was getting drunk. He felt the wine moving through him. He never drank much in his life, and now he knew he was drunk. It felt good.

"When I take out the arrow, you must plug the wound right away," the maester was saying to Lady Stark.

"I understand," Lady Stark said. Then they set to work, pulling out arrows and patching the man up. More blood flowed down on the table and the floor.

"The wine is ready," said the maester's assistant.

"I'm busy, you do it," the maester told him.

The assistant took the kettle off the brazier and then approached Gendry.

"Give him some milk of the poppy," Arya demanded.

"I have little left," said the maester. "He will live without it."

"Arya," her mother said from the operating table. "Hold his hand. Tight."

"Yes," Arya said and she did so. Gendry turned his head away from his injured shoulder and then he looked at her and she looked at him, their eyes connected and then he felt the hot wine hit his skin and the raw open wound and nothing had been so painful in all his life, not any burn from the forge, and he couldn't help but scream. Arya squeeze his left hand and arm tight as tears sprang to his eyes and he gasped in pain.

"It's all over," she said in a soothing tone. "It's over." And then she lifted the wine skin to his lips and he eagerly drank some more.

"You will need stitching," the assistant said to Gendry as he wiped more blood away with a damp cloth.

"I can do it if you are busy," Arya said, and the assistant looked at her with wide eyes.

"You are better at sword work than needle work," her mother said, as she stood there wiping her hands of blood with a wet cloth. She looked at the assistant. "I am not well suited to the table but I can sew as well as any woman in the kingdoms. Give me the catgut and needle."

"Yes, my lady," he said.

"Arya, you will have to help me some," Lady Stark said. "My hands are not as good as they used to be."

Gendry now saw her hands close up for the first time and there were scars there, and then he remembered what Arya had said about the attack on her brother's life in Winterfell.

Gendry sat there and to his utter amazement Lady Stark of Winterfell knelt in front of him on the ground and stitched his wound with catgut while her daughter helped her. As they worked, the tent flap opened and Ned Stark was there, the grim look still on his face.

"Sansa said you were here. How is the boy?"

"He will live," Catelyn Stark told him.

"That is good to hear," Ned replied. "Especially now we need an armorer."

"He needs rest first, my husband."

"Aye. The wounded are being put in the tent next door. I will help move…"

"No," Catelyn said. "Put him by himself. He does not need to hear the screams of dieing men when proper rest will give him a good chance to live."

"Aye, I'll arrange it."

By the time they took him to a small tent, Gendry was in a stupor, from the wine and the pain. He had barely felt the needle going in and out but the burning wine had been agony. Arya and her mother lay him down on some blankets in the tent and covered him up and then Arya finally relented to go off and get cleaned up.

"She thinks the world of you," Catelyn Stark said after Arya left. "I can see it now."

Was she drunk too or was she trying to be friendly to him? "Aye," was all he could say. If he was going to live in the north he may as well learn to speak like them. Then he passed out.

Gendry awoke to the sounds of whimpering and then growling. Gods, a wolf was after me, he thought and then he sat up and he let out a yell of pain, his shoulder still throbbing. Then in the darkness he heard a voice. "Are you in pain?"

Arya was beside him in the small tent. "Not so bad," he lied. Then he remembered what he heard. "Did you have a direwolf dream again?"

"Yes," she said after a moment. "Not too bad this time, just running and howling at the moon."

"What's been happening?" he asked her. Gods, his head throbbed, too. The wine.

"It's almost dawn, I think. You slept all evening and all night. I came here to give you your other shirt and see how you were and you were asleep. Then I fell asleep. Here." She handed him his other shirt and helped him put it on, careful to avoid touching his injured shoulder.

"You shouldn't be here with me," he said suddenly.

"I don't care," she said in defiance. "Besides, my mother knows I am here."

"Come on, you have to go."

She sighed. "Okay." Then in the darkness she leaned forward and kissed him quickly on the left cheek and then she was gone. That has got to stop, he thought, as he lay there, feeling his cheek burning more than his shoulder or head.

The dawn came and they had breakfast and they waited and did not move and then about noon, a large group of men rode in with three young women who looked like they had been through an ordeal. Gendry later heard they were the serving girls that had been captured. The five ironmen who had taken them were dead and the other three young women that had been captured were dead as well, killed by the ironmen when they realized they were trapped before they could reach their ships. In the far distance the riders had seen two long ships rowing away from the coast.

As they were breaking up camp Gendry found Tim and their forge wagon. "Just me and you now, Tim," he said to him and Tim was sad and afraid, he could see. Then an old soldier approached them and said Lord Stark told him to drive the wagon and so Tim got in the back of the wagon and Gendry awkwardly got on his horse. His shoulder throbbed with every move but he needed to ride. This time the baggage train was put in the center of the line of march, and Gendry wished they had thought of that yesterday.

When they stopped for a meal break, Arya and her mother came over to them. Arya was wearing a dress, a dark blue one and the scowl on her face told him right away she did not like it. "Don't laugh," she said right away. "All my clothes were covered in blood and were washed and are still wet."

"You look nice," was all he said. Was she wearing that last night? She must have been only he never noticed in the dark.

"How is your wound" Lady Stark asked him.

"Fine, my lady."

"Really?" she asked with skepticism. "Or are you trying to be a stoic northman already?"

"Well, it hurts a bit."

"Of course it does, and it will for days. Tonight we will change the dressing and make sure there is no mortification."

"Thank you, my lady."

"No, thank you, once again, for my daughter's life." With that she said goodbye and walked off and left Arya with him and they spent the day talking on many things, about the recent battle especially, trying to piece it all together. Finally, at the end of the day she looked pensive.

"What's wrong?"

"My father said we should be near the Twins tomorrow."

Sure enough the next day, they came to the outlands of the Twins domain and then by afternoon they met some outriders with messages from Walder Frey, but Gendry knew not what they said. Finally, early the next morning the whole army arrived on the banks of the Green Fork, and there up ahead Gendry saw the two castles that gave the place its name.

He felt relieved that they would rest for a while now and at the same time he was worried. He knew what was to come next. Arya had to meet this Frey boy. But he also knew she liked him, and he had been the one she had kissed, twice, in the darkness. He wished he could just speed up time, make her age two or three years, so she was a woman and he would not be afraid to kiss her back. He wished his father had claimed him as his son. He wished his mother was alive. He wished this terrible nightmare would end. But most of all he wished for a chance, just a small chance, to be happy with the one who made him happy. If the gods were good they could do that one small thing for him, couldn't they?


	21. Chapter 21 Petyr

**Ned Stark Lives! Chapter 21 Petyr**

Ser Loras Tyrell was in obvious pain as he was helped to a chair at the table outside the large pavilion in the midst of the Tyrell camp on the Roseroad. Petyr Baelish had known Ser Loras for almost five years now, since he had come to Kings Landing as a twelve-year-old boy to squire for the then sixteen-year-old Renly Baratheon. Since that time, Petyr had kept a close eye on them and he knew that after a while they had become more than just lord and squire. Now Renly was dead and Ser Loras was badly wounded, his left leg sliced open by the sword of Renly's supposed assassin, Brienne of Tarth. A large bandage was on his upper left thigh, and Baelish could see it still seeped a bit of blood. Ser Loras had always been a handsome lad, some said the most handsome in all the Seven Kingdoms. But now he looked pale and wan and his eyes were bloodshot. Too much dreamwine or milk of the poppy, or perhaps both, Baelish thought.

At the table already was his sister, Margaery Tyrell, the widow of the late Renly, looking very radiant. Sitting at the place of honor was their father, Mace Tyrell, Lord of Highgarden and Warden of the South. Or so he was until he decided to join Renly in his foolish quest to become King. He was a large man, gone to fat, and had curly brown hair and a beard streaked with grey. It was said his wife and mother ruled him, and that he lacked in intelligence and most of the decisions he made were made by others in his family for him. While the final decision about joining the King or not would be his, Baelish knew the other lords would have much to say about that, especially the two now sitting with Lord Tyrell, Randyll Tarly and Mathis Rowan. Tarly, a balding man with a short grey beard, was considered one of the best soldiers in the Seven Kingdoms. Rowan was more stout than Tarly, but was clean shaven. He was also considered a fine soldier, but did not have the reputation of Tarly. Baelish knew all three southern lords slightly, from various visits to King's Landing over the years.

When Baelish and his guard of twenty knights and two hundred gold cloaks had arrived that morning he was led immediately into the camp while his men were ordered to wait outside the barriers on the Roseroad. Baelish agreed with a smile and was taken right away to Mace Tyrell. As he walked through the camp he took note of how many men were present and of what type. There were many foot soldiers, thousands, maybe even tens of thousands, he knew not. But of horse there were few, and most of them he saw were draft horses for pulling supply wagons, not made for charging into battle. Of supplies there was plenty, with many wagons filled with casks and barrels and wooden boxes of food stuffs. There were also a few large animal corrals, with cows in one, pigs in another, and flocks of chickens and caged geese in a third.

At the Tyrell pavilion he met Mace Tyrell and was offered wine and bread, which he took and now relaxed a bit as guest right had been establish. They waited some short time for the other lords to arrive for the meeting. Baelish now sat across from the other lords at the outdoors table, which was covered in much fruit and bread and cold meat and wine and honeyed mead, all the produce of the south which as yet had been untouched by war. The wine was poured, and then Ser Loras join them, and as he sat it was time to begin.

"Ser Loras," Baelish said with a slight bow of his head. "I see you are recovering."

"The gods be good," said Mace Tyrell. "A foul business this woman, killing Renly and almost killing my son."

"Foul, yes," said Randyll Tarly with a glare at Baelish. "It smells of a Lannister plot."

"I assure you, those in King's Landing were equally as surprised as you were," Baelish told them.

"Of course you would say that," said Mathis Rowan, his eyes full of suspicion.

"It was not them," Ser Loras said in strained voice, the pain on his face obvious. "Brienne did love Renly, as we all did. His armor was sliced clean through. His neck was laid bare to the bone. No man could do that so easily, or woman, even one as strong as her. Would that I had given her a chance to explain, but the fury was on me."

He looked devastated and Baelish knew it was not because he had killed Brienne, but because his one true love was now dead. "We have heard many rumors about his death. Some even claim it was sorcery."

"It was not sorcery," said Margaery quickly, her eyes strangely calm for one who had just lost her husband.

Loras shook his head. "As she died she said she saw a shadow cut his throat. How can that be?"

"Lord Varys says a red priestess from Asshai rides with Stannis," Baelish told them.

"We have heard the same," said Mace Tyrell. "But enough on what is done and cannot be undone. We want to hear what you have to say Lord Baelish, so say it."

"I have been authorized to speak on behalf of the King and Queen Regent."

"False king," said Randyll Tarly immediately.

"Let us hear him out," Mace Tyrell said to his bannerman. Baelish produced a scroll that had his written authority to act in the name of the King. He handed it to Mathis Rowan, who sat closest to him. Lord Rowan opened it, read it and all were satisfied that Baelish had the power to make decisions for the King in these negotiations.

"What do they want?" Mace Tyrell asked him next.

"Peace," said Baelish. "Like we all do. Ned Stark has seen the wisdom of this and has made his peace and gone home."

"A peace made with a sword at his throat and his daughters' heads in nooses," growled Randyll Tarly.

"Perhaps," said Baelish. "But you know the Stark words, and dear old Ned felt that there was no time to lose before the fury of winter is on us. The maesters of the Citadel agree that our long summer is over. The time for war should be as well. But Stannis is still out there and his power grows every day. If we join our forces, we can destroy his army."

"You would have us join with Tywin Lannister?" asked Ser Loras in an angry tone. "To defend a bastard king and his whore of a mother? I think not."

But his father was looking at Baelish in a curious manner. "I would hear what terms you bring for such an alliance."

His son made a sound of disgust as Baelish spoke. "A place on the small council for you Lord Tyrell, or one of your loyal bannermen. A return of the Redwyne sons now held in King's Landing, plus any others we now hold. And a royal marriage for your daughter."

As he said this his eyes shifted to Margaery Tyrell, whose face now lit up. "To Joffrey?" she asked, the interest in her tone unmistakable.

"Yes," said Baelish. "Joffrey has renounced his engagement to Sansa Stark and she has returned to her family. If your family accepts this offer, you will now be queen of the Seven Kingdoms."

"Not a real queen," said Ser Loras in disgust.

His father stared at Baelish. "We all know that Stannis has spread these rumors of Joffrey's false parentage. Ned Stark believed the same, did he not? I would have the truth of this. Is there any strong evidence to back up Stannis' claim to the throne?"

"None that I know of," Baelish replied. "Stannis and Stark base their claim on slim evidence. They found one of Robert's bastard sons in King's Landing, and claimed because he looked like Robert and Cersei's children did not, that Robert was not their father. Well, my lords, and lady, if every child who did not look like his or her father was declared a bastard, we would be overrun with bastards, would we not?"

"True enough," agreed Mathis Rowan. "Lord Renly gave the same story to us."

"It was not a story," Ser Loras spat out. "Robert is not their father. The Kingslayer is!"

"But without any real proof of such a crime by all the laws of the Seven Kingdoms Joffrey is still King, brother dear," Margaery told him. She really wanted to be queen. Baelish could see it for certain.

"Not if Stannis cuts off his head," Randyll Tarly quickly said. "He has more horses than we have now, and more ships. He can attack King's Landing from land and sea."

"Lord Tywin is marching south with his host and Ser Jaime as his right hand as we speak," Baelish said. "Stannis cannot bridge the Blackwater Rush near the city. It is too wide and too fast, and its currents too uncertain. He must go upstream or have ships ferry his men and horse across. It will take time."

Tarly nodded. "If we hit him from the south while Lord Tywin hits him from the north we will crush him."

"It is a sound plan," Mathis Rowan declared. "But if Lord Tywin is still on the other side of the Blackwater we will face Stannis alone."

"All the better," Ser Loras stated firmly. "Then all the glory for defeating him will be ours."

"It is not Stannis that worries me," said Randyll Tarly. "Tywin Lannister is not a man known to forgive his enemies. What will stop him from striking at us after we defeat Stannis?"

"Even Lord Tywin would not be so black-hearted," Baelish announced. "King Joffrey has promised pardons for all those who took Renly's side. After all, he surely cannot declare his new wife's father an enemy. But if you hesitate my lords, and Lord Tywin defeats Stannis alone, then the time for forgiveness may have passed."

"Wise words," said Mathis Rowan thoughtfully.

"Very well, Lord Baelish, you have stated your case," said Mace Tyrell. "I would talk with my children and my lords now. You will have your answer by morning. The hospitality of the south is yours and your men's. We will speak on the morrow."

Baelish knew he was being dismissed and stood and bowed slightly. "My lords, my lady, I bid you good day."

As he left a man in Tyrell colors and with their rose sigil on his chest led him through the camp to a large tent. "All is prepared inside for you, Lord Baelish," the man said. "We have also provided your men with food and drink. If you have need of anything, please ask."

"Thank you, my good man."

Baelish entered the tent. It was well-suited for one of his position. There was a bed with a mattress and blankets, a table with a bowl of fruit and a flagon of wine and two cups. Candles were in holders on stands and a nice porcelain chamber pot sat in one corner. Baelish sat and poured some wine and nibbled on some delicious peaches and grapes as he thought on all that had brought him here.

Getting arrested for treason had been the only blemish on his otherwise remarkable rise to power these last ten years. He had been surprised by that, and only had himself to blame. If only he had been able to convince Joffrey to have Ned Stark's head taken off, all would have worked out better. The idea he planted in Joffrey's head, but then he had taken ill and before Baelish knew it, Ned Stark was on his way out of the city. Taken ill or had been poisoned, Baelish knew not which it was. Could Varys have been so reckless to poison the King? Had one of his little birds overheard Baelish and the King talking the night before Ned Stark's confession?

It mattered not now. Baelish had played Varys' game and had beaten him at it, for the moment. Varys would not support the Stark claims, and Baelish was too indispensable to the realm as its master of coin. Making himself useful had been a game Baelish had been playing for many years, since the time as a young man his love for a young girl was thrown in his face. He had been foolish and reckless then, but for Catelyn Tully he would have done anything. But not anymore. Cat, you were always so easy to believe anyone, especially me. Her and her husband were too trusting, and believed him when he told them it was Tyrion's dagger that had been used by the assassin. Actually, he knew it was one of Robert's daggers, some minor gift given to him by some visiting lord. How it made its way to Winterfell was something he did not know, but once there someone in Robert's party took it and gave it to the footpad along with a small sack of silver. It really could have been the Imp. Or anyone else with a grudge against the Stark's.

When he learned of the attack and then found out Cat was in King's Landing, it was an easy thing to set the next part of his plan in motion. The plan of course, was to destroy House Stark and House Lannister, one at least or both if possible. Lysa Tully had made the beginning of this all possible. When she heard her loathsome husband was planning to send her weakly son to be fostered on Dragonstone, she came running to her beloved Petyr and begged him to help her. Poor Lysa. All those miscarriages and still births had taken a toll on her mental health. Not that she was stable to begin with. He had taken her maidenhead and had gotten her with child, he found out years later. Her father forced her to drink the moon tea, and then had begged Lord Arryn to take his sullied daughter. Jon Arryn needed Tully swords to help Robert's Rebellion and had reluctantly agreed. A marriage made in the heavens, to be sure. Convincing Lysa to pour the poison in her lord husband's wine and write to her sister that the Lannisters had murdered Jon Arryn had been the easy part. What would come next he did not know, but slowly the pieces fell into place.

In the game of thrones one had to be ready for such opportunities. The attack on Bran Stark and Cat bringing the dagger to him was the opportunity he had been waiting for. It all felt too good to let go so he acted and blamed the Imp. What Cat did next surprised him, but it set House Lannister and Stark at each others throats. The realm staggered toward war and blood began to flow.

Then House Lannister suffered setbacks to everyone's surprise. Robb Stark proved more than a match for them. So Ned Stark had to be freed, his daughters as well. Then the Imp escaped and Ned Stark was taken by Lord Tywin, words were spoken, blame assigned and he ended up in a black cell.

Not for long, but still, it was a bit of a shock. It only took a short time to work his way out, and then a few days later he was free. After that Cersei came to him, asking for him to negotiate with the southern lords. Oh, how the tables were reversed and how Baelish had relished the moment. Of course Cersei had made threats, that was her way, saying his head would soon be off if a trial proved him guilty. But he may just redeem himself with a successful mission as an envoy. Baelish, however, exacted his price from her. His freedom he knew they would give already. He had heard through ears he owned that Tyrion Lannister had no other evidence about Baelish blaming him for the attack on Bran. There was just the word of Ned and Cat Stark, one a traitor, the other a kidnapper.

So he demanded a reward for his services. Cersei was angered at first, but she finally agreed, if he was successful that is. He asked for Harrenhal, and she had laughed and then said it had already been promised to Janos Slynt. She was the Queen, was she not, Baelish reminded her, and such promises could be broken. She finally agreed and the next morning Baelish had left King's Landing. And now he awaited word on whether his offers were acceptable or not.

Many hours later as night fell Baelish was visited by Margery Tyrell. He asked her into his tent and they sat at the table with a cup of wine in hand. She was fifteen or sixteen years old, he had heard, and was one of the great beauties of the kingdoms. Baelish was a connoisseur of beauty, looking far and wide for young ladies of great beauty and no fortune for his whore houses. But this daughter of the south was no whore. She was bred to be a queen, and he knew she wanted it badly.

"How thinks your father?" he asked right away after pleasantries had been exchanged.

"He is in favor of the pact," she said right away. "So is Lord Rowan and many other lords."

"But not Lord Tarly or your brother."

"Not yet."

Baelish now knew what was up. They had sent her to sound him out. They were too proud to come themselves. "Perhaps some rewards for their services might sway them?"

She smiled. "My brother says you are exceedingly clever and to be careful when I talked to you."

"Ser Loras is too kind. I am clever, but I would not try to deceive my future Queen. That would be a bad way to begin our relationship."

"You are clever!"

Baelish laughed a bit. "I can't help myself, force of habit. Now what do they wish as a reward for joining the King and defeating his uncle?"

"My brother would like to be a member of the Kingsguard. My father also insists. If I am to live in King's Landing and be Joffrey's Queen he wants Loras there to protect me."

"A reasonable request. There is just the problem of the Kingsguard itself. There are already seven members and they serve for life."

"We have heard how Joffrey forced Ser Barristan Selmy to retire."

Baelish grinned. "How true. Perhaps some other elderly member may wish to rest in his final years. I am sure it can be arranged. Now, for Lord Tarly?"

"He wants lands and incomes. Details to be decided after Stannis is defeated. My father and the other high lords also wish the same. Such lands can be taken from the Storm Lands."

"And Storm's End itself?"

"No, I think not. It is the Baratheon home seat. My father thinks King Joffrey will wish to keep it for his own."

"I am sure he will," said Baelish, even though he is not a real Baratheon. Baelish knew the truth of that as well. "Tell your father and brother and the others that all of this is agreeable. We should draw up terms and sign them in the morning."

She stood. "I will convey this message. Thank you for the wine, Lord Baelish."

"You are welcome. I will see you out."

He held the tent flap open for her and to both of their surprise there was a grey mist in the night air. The two Tyrell guards that had come with her were looking about in suspicion.

"What is it?" Baelish asked. He sniffed and thought he smelled smoke. "Is there a fire?"

"No, my lord," said one man. They were on the edge of the Kingswood, about a mile away from it in an area of farmer's fields and villages on the Roseroad.

"Is the forest on fire?" Baelish asked, looking off to the east over fields of high grain where the forest was.

The other man got up on a nearby wagon and peered to the east. "I see no flames. Just the grey mist. I can't see far. It's getting thicker."

All around them men were peering towards the east. Gradually the mist rolled in and became so thick Baelish could barely see the next tent over. Through the fog, he heard shouted commands. Men were moving in the mist out there, and the sounds of voices became muffled.

"I'm afraid Lord Baelish, "Margaery suddenly said as she cowered near him. "I wish to go back to my father's tent."

"I fear we would lose our way in this mist," he told her. "Come, stay in my tent until it passes. It must be a simple fog."

"This far from the ocean, my lord?" one of the men said. "I'm from Old Town. We get fogs often, but they never reach up to Highgarden."

"He's right," said Margaery as she shivered in fear. "I…"

And then it happened and Baelish new that sorcery was no longer a myth. The air suddenly crackled with the flash of a single bolt of lightning to the east with a clap of thunder immediately following and then the very mist seemed to catch on fire. It started in the east and spread toward the camp. Men screamed and horses cried in fear. The fire rolled toward them, unstoppable, and suddenly it was on them in a few seconds. The man up on the wagon burst into flames with a sudden shriek.

"Get down!" Baelish shouted to Margery and he pulled her to the ground as the flames passed over their heads and moved on through the camp. It was over in an instant but as he raised his head Baelish knew the damage had been done. All around them was chaos. Men were on fire, horses as well, tents were burning everywhere, supplies going up in smoke, and all around was the sound of screams of frightened men and animals.

"What is it?" Margaery shouted in fear.

"I know not! Come on! We must get to safety!"

He picked her up from the ground and they ran, back the way he thought her father's tent was. "No, this way," she said and she took his hand and pulled him another way and they moved through the chaos, and the air was filled with smoke and flame and screams and it was hard to breath.

Then came the sound of charging hoof beats and screaming men and from behind them came an army, an army bearing down on the camp from the forest and fields to the east, and in the light from the fires Baelish saw a strange banner, a fiery heart in a field of yellow. Men were fighting and falling and running away and arrows and crossbow bolts shot through the air and commanders were trying to form up lines of pike men and swords were slashing and people were falling and dieing. Off to his left he heard the roar of a voice, loud and commanding, above the din.

"FORM ON ME!" shouted the voice, the voice of Randyll Tarly on a large warhorse, his massive sword in his hand and men flocked to him and formed up around him and made a compact mass of infantry.

"To Tarly!" Baelish shouted to Margaery and they ran that way but as they ran someone charged behind them on a horse and then something hit his head and Baelish fell into the dirt and saw blackness come before his eyes.

A long time later, he knew not how long, he awoke, in pain, lying on some carpets with a pillow under his head. He was inside a tent. His throat was dry and it was hard to see. Slowing he perceived it was daylight outside and he gradually sat up. He felt his head and found a bandage wrapped around it and a very tender lump on the back of his head.

"Lord Baelish is awake, Your Grace," said a voice. It was a man in chain mail, standing by the door of the tent. He had the same sigil on his chest Baelish remembered seeing on the banner. A fiery heart. Stannis Baratheons' man, he now knew.

And there was the man himself, sitting at a small table, eating a peach. He was wearing plate armor with the same sigil. His head and hands were bare. Stannis looked grim as he always did. "They grow good peaches in the Reach, don't you think, Lord Baelish?"

"I believe so, my lord." It hurt to talk.

"Your Grace is his title," growled the soldier by the door. "He is your King!"

"Forgive me," said Baelish as he stood and bowed slightly, which made his head spin. "Your Grace," he said and then he fell. The soldier rushed forward and helped him and put him in the chair opposite Stannis.

"Leave us," Stannis commanded in a harsh tone and the soldier left. Stannis nodded to a flagon of wine on the table. "Arbor gold I believe. Be my guest."

With unsteady hands Baelish poured himself a cup and went to do the same for Stannis and then remembered he did not drink. He gulped the wonderful wine and poured another cup.

"Have you been in battle before?" Stannis asked him.

"Only with Brandon Stark many years ago."

"Stark? Oh, yes, a duel over the Tully girl. Foolishness."

"At the time I thought not," Baelish replied.

"Now he is dead, and she is married to Eddard, so it matters not."

"Many people are now dead," Baelish replied. The wine made his throat better and his head cleared somewhat.

"Yes," Stannis replied. "My two brothers as well."

"A sad loss for the realm."

Stannis snorted. "You know I loved Robert not. But a boar? What a stupid way to die. Renly, he should have bowed to me and taken his place by my side. I offered him a seat on the council, all his old titles and position as heir until I have a son. He refused me. Then he ate a peach. How odd. A peach. What does it mean?"

"Perhaps he liked peaches," said Baelish, who had no idea what it meant.

"Maybe so," said Stannis as he put the peach pit on the table and wiped his hands on a cloth. "Now to business. What are you doing here?"

No sense in lying to him. "I came to negotiate a pact on behalf of Joffrey. Are they all dead or your prisoners?"

"We have the Tyrell girl and her brother. Tarly managed to form up a stout defense and he and Rowan and Mace Tyrell escaped to the south with about a third of their men. My cavalry pursued then for a while but each time we attacked they formed a hedgehog of spears and pikes my men could not break so I called off the attack. Many more are scattered and many thousands are dead. Many of them burned." He looked around. "This is one of the few tents still standing."

Now Baelish wanted to know how it had all been done. "The mist. The fire. How did…?"

Stannis cut him off. "It matters not how. It is done. How is your head?"

"Painful."

"You are lucky to be alive. The Tyrell girl shouted out who she was and who you were and my men were smart enough to take you both prisoner."

"Am I a prisoner?"

"For now. Until I decide what use I can make of you."

"And how did you take Ser Loras?"

Stannis shrugged. "Asleep in his bed. The maester said he had dreamwine. When he awoke he was quite ashamed he have been captured in such a manner. The great Loras Tyrell. How was he wounded?"

"Killing your brother's assassin, Brienne of Tarth."

"Who?"

There was no lie there. So, he did not know. Maybe there was a shadow after all. "Brienne of Tarth. She was one of his guards."

"I think I remember a woman came with him when we had our parley before he died.'

"Maybe it was her. In King's Landing the whisperers say she was with him alone when his throat was cut. Ser Loras and the others thought she had done it. But she claimed it was a shadow."

Stannis grunted. "It matters not how he died. He was my brother. He is dead, and I grieve for him in some small way. He should have come to my side."

"Yes, he should have. One question, Your Grace. I came with twenty knights and a party of two hundred gold cloaks. What is their fate?"

"My men reported a group of men riding fast off to the north as we attacked. It may have been them."

Baelish gave a short bitter laugh. "My bodyguard, running away at the first sign of trouble. They abandoned me."

"Not their battle maybe they thought," Stannis replied.

"Perhaps," Baelish said. "Now what will you do?"

"Tell me what is happening in King's Landing. Tell me where Tywin Lannister is."

Baelish knew what game they were playing now. "My information for my life?"

Stannis nodded. "You are no man of war, Lord Baelish. And I know you don't care which side you are on. I know you know I could make good use of you when King's Landing falls and I take the Iron Throne."

"Yes, that is true. But you also know I own half of the whore houses in King's Landing."

Stannis bristled. "You know me well from my years in King's Landing, so you know I do not approve of such. But many men are weak. They must have their whores, then so be it. But you will keep a tight control of it. If any infamy results, I will burn every last whore house and every last whore."

"Agreed. I have heard you have a priestess who loves fire."

"I have. You had best take care with your tongue when you meet her. She is…she is…powerful, in ways you and I cannot imagine."

"Where is she now?"

"Resting. Enough of her. Do we have an agreement?"

"I am to be master of coin on your council and continue all my other businesses? How can I refuse."

"Good. Now, tell me it all."

"The city has about seven thousands defenders. Many of them are half trained gold cloaks that will run if you breach any gate. I have heard Gregor Clegane and one thousand men are in the Kingswood south of the capital."

"We ran into their patrols before we turned this way. I left behind some men to give the impression we are probing for a weak point to get up the Kingswood road."

"A wise plan. Now, Tyrion Lannister is Joffrey's acting hand until Lord Tywin can arrive."

"The Imp?" Stannis snorted in disgust. "All he is good for is books, wine, and whores."

"He may surprise you. He led an attack on Harrenhal which seized the castle by surprise. And he negotiated the peace between Robb Stark and his father."

"Stark," Stannis said in disdain. "He is why I am here."

Baelish took a sip of wine. "You mean he is why you choose to attack here?"

"Yes," Stannis replied. "If he had stayed in the field to hold Tywin in check I would have marched on King's Landing at once. But with Tywin Lannister free of the Stark threat I decided that I must defeat Tyrell before I moved against Tywin."

"You mean to meet Tywin Lannister in open battle?"

"There is no other way to take the city. I must defeat his army in the field first. Then the city will fall of its own accord."

"Tywin Lannister has never been beaten in the field."

"You think not? Perhaps not beaten, but he was certainly outwitted by the Stark boy."

"Quite true."

"Where is Lord Tywin now?"

"Marching south to the city the last I heard. Where he is and when he will arrive I know not. My news is four days old."

Stannis grimaced. "He could already be there!"

"Indeed."

Stannis stood. "Come. It is time to make plans."

Baelish slowly stood and felt able to walk and followed Stannis out of the tent. Outside it was chaos. The smell of smoke was heavy in the air. The sky was blue and the sun was shining but the day was not beautiful. Dead men lay everywhere, mostly Tyrell men, with a few of Stannis', and in the heat they were beginning to rot. Dead cows and pigs and horses also lay about, many of them burnt. Supply wagons had burnt to their axles, and many supplies had burnt as well. But much had been saved and Baelish could see a mass of barrels and casks and boxes in a central area where they were being redistributed on the wagons and horses which had survived. Everywhere they walked men dipped their heads and said "Your Grace" and then continued with their work. Stannis shouted some orders and his officers came up and asked questions and gave reports and off they went with new orders.

As they walked they passed a fenced off area, one of the corrals, now empty of animals. In their place many prisoners were sitting on the ground covered by many guards. Stannis stopped here and had many men with bows and crossbows surround the prisoners as he addressed them. "You men are prisoners of war. I would ransom you if I had time but I do not. And I do not have food or drink for useless mouths. Many of your southern lords have already come to my side. Any man who now bends the knee and agrees to fight for me against the Lannisters will have my pardon and his freedom and land when this war is over. What say you?"

Almost immediately many men got up and bent the knee and soon many others followed. At the end only about three dozen refused. After the others swore the oath of fealty and were released from the pen, Stannis looked at the men remaining inside. "Kill them," Stannis said to his men and then all around the pen bows and crossbows _twanged_ and arrows and bolts flew into the men. There were screams and cries for mercy and some tried to flee but were cut down by swords, and in a minute it was all over.

After it was over he looked at Baelish steadily. "Now you know what kind of King I am. Would you still serve me?"

Baelish grinned. "Your Grace, I always knew what kind of King you would be. I have no trouble serving you."

"Good. Come, we must speak with the Tyrell whelps and then my commanders."

They found Ser Loras and his sister in another intact tent. Four guards were outside and four more were inside. Ser Loras was lying on a bed with his bandaged leg propped up on a pillow. His face was full of bitterness and he looked like he wanted to kill every man in the room. Margaery sat by his side on a chair, looking a bit disheveled and tired but otherwise unharmed.

"Leave us," Stannis said to his guards as they entered the tent.

"How are you, Lord Baelish?" Margaery asked in concern as soon as the guards left.

"I have a terrible headache, but will live I hope."

"We have things to discuss," Stannis told them brusquely.

"I have nothing to say to you," Ser Loras snapped. "You killed your own brother. How could you?" The last was almost like a plea for understanding.

Stannis did not deny he had a part in the killing. "Renly should have come to my side. You were there at the parley. You know I would have made him heir and given him back all his titles."

"He was a king. Why should he bend the knee and take your leavings?"

"I am the elder. I have the better claim," Stannis told him. "Where is his body?"

"Buried, under a tree," Ser Loras told him. "Only I know where and it shall stay that way till I die."

"Very well," Stannis told him and Baelish wondered if Stannis knew about his brother and Ser Loras' true feelings for each other. "You are beaten," Stannis continued. "Your father and Tarly and many other high lords ran off south. Your army is broken, your men dead or scattered and running away. You two will stay with me as hostages of your father's neutrality in my coming battles. If he raises another army to come after me then you will die."

"Put steel in my hand and we will see who will die!" Ser Loras shouted.

"Perhaps it will be me," said Stannis to Baelish's surprise. "Your prowess as a swordsman is unparalleled, Ser Loras, even with a wounded leg I am sure. But the time for such foolishness has passed. You and your sister will write letters to your father. You will tell him you are alive and are being treated well. All this will remain true as long as he remains neutral. When I win the war he and you and all the others will have your pardons."

Ser Loras bristled but said nothing and Baelish knew he did not fear death but also knew he feared for his sister's life. Margaery spoke softly. "Bring us ink and parchment and we will write the letters,"

"Very well," Stannis said and turned to Baelish. "Come."

"Baelish!" Ser Loras shouted as he turned to leave. "Are you his man now?"

Baelish grinned. "I am my own man, Ser Loras. But I serve where I am needed."

Ser Loras looked at him in disgust. "Death is preferable."

"Yes, for you perhaps," Baelish said. "But unlike you, I still have much to live for."

Their next stop was an outdoor table, the same one where he had met the lords of the south the day before. This time Stannis took center stage with all his lord high bannermen around him. Many looked at Baelish in wonder and then listened as he told them all he knew of King's Landing and Tywin Lannister. After he finished Stannis had a guard lead him away and he was given some food and mead. The food was beef stew, not his usual fare, but it tasted wonderful because he was so famished. After he ate a maester came and looked at his wound and took off the bandage and washed his wound and the blood out of his hair with warm soapy water. Then he told him to sit in the sun and let himself dry and not to drink so much mead or wine as it was bad for head injuries.

They stayed there for the rest of the day, cleaning the battlefield of the dead, taking care of the wounded, gathering supplies, sending out patrols, and preparing to move north. Ser Loras refused to write a letter so his sister did it for them and then Stannis sent one of the former prisoners on a fast horse to the south with the letter.

The next morning they broke camp and headed north on the Roseroad. Baelish was given a horse and he and Margaery rode side by side as her brother lay in a nearby wagon on some sacks of grain, his fall from fame complete, as far as Baelish could see. He was still handsome, but without his armor and sword and a horse to sit on he was much less fearsome. All day Ser Loras sat and said nothing and barely ate when they stopped for meals and Baelish knew if his sister wasn't there he would have tried anything to escape or at least kill some of Stannis' men before they cut him down.

They were surrounded by many guards and as they rode north Baelish did not see Stannis much. He caught a glimpse of him on the first day with the red woman, as his men called her in whispers, but Stannis did not introduce them yet. Baelish did not really care. He had much more on his mind. Like how to play this the right way. If Stannis won, then all would be well. But if the Lannisters won, he would have to somehow convince them he was a prisoner. But Ser Loras and Margaery knew he was not, and knew he had thrown in his lot with Stannis. If they survived the battle and told the Lannisters, he might well lose his head. So he would just have to make sure Ser Loras and Margaery did not survive what was to come.


	22. Chapter 22 Robb

**Ned Stark Lives! Chapter 22 Robb**

"He won't let me cross!" the Greatjon Umber had immediately shouted as he had meet Robb and Ned Stark by the drawbridge leading to the western castle of the Twins. Now an hour later all the commanders had been assembled in a large tent set up in the midst of the growing Stark army camp near the west banks of the Green Fork. The Stark host had barely arrived when Robb and his father learned that Greatjon Umber and his cavalry force of one thousand men had been delayed here for three days because Lord Walder Frey refused to allow them to cross his bridge until Robb and Ned arrived to discuss "matters".

In the tent around a rough table were all of Robb's loyal lords from the north, the Greatjon Umber, Galbart Glover, Ser Helman Tallhart, Lady Maege Mormont of Bear Island, and many others, with the exception of Roose Bolton, who was still marching north on the east bank of the Green Fork from the ruby ford of the Trident with his slightly more than one thousand men. Also missing was Rickard Karstark, who the Greatjon had learned had crossed the bridge almost ten days ago with little trouble and had gone north. Where Lord Karstark and his almost seven hundred men were now no one knew for certain. Robb wondered if they had managed to cross the Neck before the ironmen closed on Moat Cailin or not.

Also present in the tent were Ser Stevron Frey and his eldest son Ryman, representing the Frey's in the Stark host. Stevron was the eldest son of old Walder Frey. He was in his sixties, and had been waiting a long time for his father to die. He had the grey eyes, weak chin and weasel look common to the Freys, along with grey hair and a grey beard. He was a fair warrior but he had never won renown at anything and had been in his father's shadow since his birth. As heir to the Twins he was fighting a constant battle against his own children and his many siblings and their children who wished to gain favor and more power from Lord Walder before he died. Robb knew Stevron's son Ryman was the worst of the bunch. He was a stout man still in his early forties, but looked older, and who liked his wine and his whores. With a grandfather past ninety and a father past sixty, he could expect it all to come to him some day, if he didn't drink and whore himself to death first that is.

"Three days lost," Robb's father said in angry. "He knows the ironmen are at Moat Cailin. Ser Stevron, you must talk to him."

Stevron slowly nodded. "I have, for the past hour. My father knows what is at stake Lord Stark. But he is unlikely to change his mind. You and your son must see him at once to settle matters over promises made by your lady wife."

"At least he should permit Lord Umber and his cavalry to pass," Robb said in frustration. "They are but a small part of our force. We need them to go swiftly north to forestall the ironmen from consolidating their hold on the Neck."

"I agree," Stevron said and then shook his head. "But my father will not yet yield to reason. You must talk to him."

"Aye," said Ned Stark in an angry tone. "It is past time we talked. Come, Robb. The rest of you stay here. You as well Ser Stevron and Ryman."

Ryman protested. "My grandfather will expect us at any meeting."

"You sit yourself right down there, Ryman," the Greatjon told him. "We have plenty of wine so you'll be happy. And if Ned and Robb are 'delayed' in any way, we'll make sure you have the hospitality of the North."

"Lord Stark," Stevron said in rising angry, directing his words to Robb. "My men have fought valiantly for you. Is this how you treat allies? With veiled threats?"

"Your father has refused my bannermen passage across his bridge," Robb answered in a stern tone. "Is this how he treats his allies?"

"He…he is old, and bitter," said Stevron, calming down a bit. "He feels slighted by the lack of respect he feels the other great houses have towards ours. He only wants your respect and your friendship. And what was promised."

"Then he shall have it all," Ned Stark said. "Come, Robb. Time is wasting."

They left the tent and came out into the morning sun. Grey Wind was waiting for Robb there. He called Grey Wind to him and his direwolf followed him and his father. They had been here less than two hours and already things were bad, Robb thought. All around him his men were making camp, for they would have to be here at least a day or two to settle wedding plans. But they needed to send some kind of force north now. Roose Bolton was already on the east bank, so...

"Where is Roose Bolton?" his father suddenly asked, as if reading his mind.

"The Greatjon sent some men across to the east bank in a small boat a day ago to find them. They have not returned yet."

"We must get word to them to keep moving north, with all possible speed."

"He is mostly on foot," Robb told him. "We took the bulk of the horse to Riverrun."

"Then we must have this bridge. Today."

As they walked toward the west bank castle of the Twins Robb's mother suddenly came striding through the camp with Arya and Sansa trailing behind her. "What is happening?" his mother asked right away.

"Walder Frey is being his usual prickly self," her husband told her. "He refused the Greatjon and his men passage. They have been here for three days, waiting."

"Have we sent no men north?" she asked in fear.

"None," said Robb. "Karstark and his men passed over ten days ago but no one knows where they are now. But they are no friends of ours now." He knew why she was worried. The last message that came to them from Maester Luwin said that Roose Bolton's bastard was causing trouble and that ironmen were on the Stony Shore. Both places were far from Winterfell, but with few men left in Winterfell, she worried about Bran and Rickon.

"Arya," his father was saying. "Come with us. If Walder Frey wants you to marry his son he should see what he is getting."

"Ned!" Catelyn Stark said in shock. "Look at her!"

"What?" Arya asked in puzzlement. "What's wrong?"

Robb almost laughed. Arya's hair had grown some since King's Landing but it was still very short for a girl. She was dressed in her boy's clothes and had dirt on her hands and as always Needle was at her side. She was not very presentable for a betrothal ceremony.

"You're a mess!" said Sansa to her sister, to underline the point. Arya hit her in the arm and Sansa winced and hit her back and for a second Robb thought Arya would pull her sword out.

"Stop that this instant!" Catelyn Stark said and the two sisters stopped and then glowered at each other. "Arya, quickly, go change and…"

"No," said Ned Stark firmly. "She is fine. More than fine."

Catelyn Stark shook her head. "My husband…this is not good. Robb is also a mess, he hasn't shaved in weeks, and he needs a haircut, and the two of them need a bath and…"

"There is no time for such things," said Robb's father to his mother.

"Gods," Catelyn said and then breathed deeply. "Very well. Arya, at least give me that sword."

"No!" Arya said in defiance, her hand on Needle in case her mother tried to take it from her.

"Leave her be," Ned said to his wife quietly. "We are going in there alone and I don't know what will happen. She knows how to use it, so let her keep it." Catelyn just stared at him and then nodded once. "Come, my children," Robb's father said. "Let us go meet your future family."

"Stay, Grey Wind," Robb commanded and his direwolf tried to follow him but Sansa called him back and Grey Wind paused, turned and went to her side and she began rubbing his fur.

Robb, his father, and little sister walked straight to the drawbridge that crossed the moat that separated the west bank castle from the river bank. As they reached the castle portcullis two guards stopped them.

"Eddard Stark, Lord Robb Stark, and Lady Arya Stark to see Lord Walder Frey," his father announced to the guards and the portcullis was raised and they were asked to wait in a small empty room just inside the castle's outer walls.

"What's going to happen?" Arya asked as they waited.

"You are going to meet Lord Walder Frey," Robb told her.

"He's an old man who has had more wives and now has more children than anyone in the kingdoms," added his father. "He takes all things said to him to heart. And he nurses grudges longer than most people live. So hold your tongue and only speak when spoken to."

"Will I meet the boy today?" Arya asked, chewing her bottom lip.

"No," her father said. "He is a page to Roose Bolton. He is still not here."

"Oh," said Arya and Robb could see she was pleased. "What's his name?"

"Elmar…I think," Robb said.

"Elmar," Arya repeated. "How old is he?"

"Your age," Ned told her. "He is Lord Frey's youngest son."

Arya's face screwed up. "My age? He's just a little boy!"

"Aye," Robb said. "And you're just a little girl."

"Am not!" she shot back at him.

"Stop that," her father said, but he chuckled at the same time. Well, maybe she was not so little, Robb thought. She had killed men, more than once, and Robb knew she had eyes for the smith Gendry. She wasn't even a woman yet and she was swooning over some boy. More man than boy, now that he thought on it. That was going to be trouble. He had talked to Gendry to warn him about what would happen here, that Arya was promised to another. Robb felt the smith had gotten the message, and perhaps he worried for nothing.

"What about Robb's wife?" Arya asked. "Will she be here?"

"Seven hells," Robb said quietly. "Do I have to pick one today?"

"It would make things easier," his father answered. "But do not feel rushed. Pick one you like, and be sure before you decide. But we must send some force across the bridge, and sooner than later."

Then a young man with the Frey look came to them. "Lord Stark, my grandfather will see you now."

They followed him up some stairs and then into what passed for a great hall at the Twins. Like at Riverrun there was a raised dais at one end and many benches along the walls There were also many people here, almost all of them Freys, Robb guessed. Men and women, and children and on and on, dozens of them, in a room about half the size of Riverrun's great hall. There were also many young girls and women here, all seemingly dressed in their finest, and Robb had no doubt one of these was to be his bride to be. The word must have gone out when he arrived this morning and now they were waiting on him to pick one to be the future Lady Stark of Winterfell.

On the raised dais at one end was Lord Walder Frey. He was old and balding and had a weak chin and splotchy skin, which hung in loose folds. He sat awkwardly on the high chair whose back was carved with the two towers that were his family's sigil. Near him were four men, three strong looking, all three of them armed. Robb did not know them, but they all looked like Freys and from their age he guessed they were some of his older sons. The fourth man was sitting down next to Lord Walder, and was unarmed, and Robb could see he had a lame leg, which was twisted. This must be Lothar Frey, another one of Lord Walder's sons, and Steward of the Twins. His father had tried to teach him who was who in the Frey family but all the names became a blur to him, made worse by having so many named Walder. Old Walder Frey had had eight wives and twenty-one true sons and seven daughters by them and many more bastards besides. The only reason Robb remembered who Lothar was because of his bad leg.

"Lord Walder," his father said as he bowed and Robb and Arya did as well as they stood behind him. "It is good to meet again after so long."

"Yes, Lord Stark, too long," said Walder Frey as his head bobbed up and down while speaking. "But it is not Lord Stark anymore, is it? _Heh_. You have confessed to being a traitor and have been stripped of all your titles and lands. I should be talking to your son, not you."

This was not a good way to start. Robb could see that his father's body stiffen. "As you wish," Ned Stark said to Walder Frey. "It matters not to me."

He stepped to one side and Robb knew he had to step forward. "I am honored to meet you, Lord Walder," he said with a slight bow. "We have traveled far. Would it be too much trouble to ask for some food and drink?" His mother had drilled that into his head as they came north. He had to ask, to have guest right.

"_Heh_. Yes, yes. Bring in the bread and wine," Lord Walder commanded and soon a tray was brought in and they were each give some bread with salt and a cup of wine. Arya ate the bread quickly and only sipped some wine, making a face as she did so. After Robb and his father ate and drank the tray was taken away.

"Yes, yes, that is done. Now we talk. Honors you talk about," said Lord Walder. "An honor to meet me, you say. An honor you refused several months ago when you headed south. You sent your mother to do your talking. Not hiding behind her skirts any longer, are you?" He then made the _heh _sound again, as if he had made a smart joke.

Robb did not care for the words of insult, but kept calm. "My lady mother made a pact with you for use of your bridge. I and my sister are here to honor this pact."

"Sister? I see no sister, only a little boy with a little sword," Walder Frey said, peering at Arya in confusion.

She now stepped forward. "I am Arya Stark of Winterfell, my lord," she said in a loud and strong voice for one so young. Then Lord Walder let out a small laugh and then a murmur of laughter rang through the hall. Arya was getting angry, Robb saw, and he just shook his head at her and she gritted her teeth and tried to remain calm.

"Yes, a girl you are," said Walder Frey. "Your mother lets you dress like that and carry a sword?_ Heh_. We'll put an end to that when you marry my son."

"I look forward to meeting him, my lord," said Arya, and Robb knew it was well said and thankfully she had not tried to argue about the clothes or sword comment.

"Good, good," said Lord Walder and then he looked at Robb. "Lord of Winterfell, you have promised to marry one of my daughters or granddaughters. Here they are, all of them. Make your choice." He waved his old right hand at the room as he said this.

Suddenly, a bevy of young Frey women were coming down from the benches and nearby stairs and walls and were standing in front of their lord and facing Robb. They all curtseyed as if on cue. "My ladies," he said with a slight bow of his head and then he was truly overwhelmed. Seven hells, he thought! Now that the choice was here it was too much for him to decide. They were all alike and yet all different. Some had brown hair, some blond, others near coal black, and there were even a few with red or auburn hair. Some were fat, others rail thin, some mere girls, others women fully blossomed. There was even a set of twins. Many had the grey eyes and weak chin and weasel look of their lord, but some had been blessed without such looks, and these were the ones who his eyes lingered on longest. They were all dressed well, and most were shy and many blushed as he looked at them. A few were bold and looked right back at him.

"I…I am overwhelmed, my lord," Robb said at last. "Such a host of beauties I have never laid eyes on in my life. It would be too hasty of me to decide right now."

"_Heh_. One is the same as another," Lord Walder said with a wave of his weak hand. "Off you go!" he commanded and all the women went back to where they had been a few minutes earlier. "They will all bear heirs for you, heirs of Winterfell. We have arranged for the wedding. It can be done in a day or two. Then we shall all be fast friends. Both weddings, when Elmar arrives."

Robb heard the intake of air behind him as Arya sucked in her breath. He knew she was about to explode in fury and then thankfully his father stepped forward again.

"That I cannot allow," Ned Stark said strongly. "The agreement my wife made is for a marriage for when they are both of a proper age. Arya is not yet a woman. She is but ten years of age. There will be no marriage until she has blossomed. I may be branded a traitor, and have no titles, but as her father I exercise my right of marriage consent under all the laws of the Seven Kingdoms."

Old Walder Frey made a deep growling sound in his throat, as if he was clearing his throat, but maybe he was just thinking. "Very well," he finally said and Robb could sense the tension leaving Arya. "But Lord Robb Stark shall wed, and wed soon."

"I will," said Robb swiftly. "I think perhaps I could spend a short time with each young lady, to get to know them better. Today, at my camp."

"As you wish," said Walder Frey. "Preparations shall begin for the wedding."

"There is one other matter, my lord," Robb said quickly, before they were dismissed. "You know we have had some trouble in the north."

"Ironmen at Moat Cailin," said Lothar Frey. "They have sent ravens asking for help."

"Have you sent any?" Ned Stark asked, a hopeful tone in his voice.

One of the other sons now spoke. "We have no quarrel with the Iron Islands."

"Not yet," said Ned grimly. "They were near Seagard as well. We were attacked on the road here, and Arya was almost killed. We lost many good people. And now they are attacking Moat Cailin. You will soon be between them. We needs send a fast force north to forestall them."

"How large a force?" Walder Frey asked, his old eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Some cavalry, no more," said Robb. "About two thousand men. The bulk of my army will wait until the wedding is over. We are also waiting on Princess Myrcella, who will be fostered at Winterfell with your two grandsons."

This news surprised Walder Frey and the others, Robb could see. "The Princess, coming here?" Lord Walder asked, his bald head bobbing up and down as he spoke.

"Aye," Robb replied. "She is supposed to come soon. Now she is at Harrenhal."

"Clear the hall!" Lord Walder suddenly commanded and soon most of the people except the four sons up front with their lord father had left. Robb wondered what was going to happen now. He glanced at his father and at Arya and both seemed very tense.

"Tell them," Walder Frey commanded of his son Lothar as soon as the hall was emptied.

"We have had news of tidings in the south," said Lothar. "Renly Baratheon is dead."

"Dead?" Robb said in surprise and he looked at his father who just shook his head in sadness.

"How did it happen?" his father asked.

"We know not for certain," said another son. "The story we have is that one of his bodyguards was an assassin in the pay of Stannis Baratheon."

"He had his own brother killed?" Robb asked in disbelief. He could not imagine such a thing.

"Yes," said Lord Walder. "Believe it, young Lord Stark. That is how he is. Stern Stannis would shed his own blood to get his boney arse on that chair of melted swords."

"Stannis had the better claim," said Ned. "But this is an ill way to have victory."

"What of Renly's army?" Robb asked suddenly.

"Most have gone over to his brother," said Lothar. "Except for the Tyrells and the Tarlys."

"So now Lord Tywin faces one army," said Robb's father. "If Lord Tywin was smart he would try to make a deal with the Tyrells."

"Cunning, he is," said Walder Frey in a bitter tone. "Proud as the lion on his banner, too. Snubbed my family for years, even though my son is married to his sister. Wanted my help, he did, came crawling to me finally, now that he was beaten by you Starks. He wanted…"

"Father!" said Lothar suddenly.

Walder Frey glared at his son Lothar. "I have decided! Tell them or I will!"

"Father, this is not wise," Lothar said in worry.

"Tell them!" Walder Frey shouted and his voice was strong for one so old. "Tell them what treachery Tywin Lannister is plotting! Tell them why the Princess will never go to Winterfell!"

Robb suddenly knew what they were arguing about and was too shocked to speak. His hand went to his sword pommel and then he swiftly removed it, so as not to give offense.

"Seven hells," Arya said in a bare whisper. "What's happening?"

Her father knew. "Lannister's are all liars," Ned Stark spat as he shook his head in disgust. "I knew our peace was too good to be true. What has he promised you for our heads?"

"Nothing was promised outright," said Lothar after some hesitation. "He hinted at possible lordship of the Riverlands. Or to make father or one of us Warden of the North." Robb could see that all four sons were quite embarrassed, whether at the treachery they knew of and perhaps plotted for or at their father for being so bold as to tell them of it. Robb was now sure they had argued to keep silent about it.

Ned snorted. "Lannister promises always come with hidden dangers. You could never hold the Riverlands or the North. The Tullys would fight you to the bitter end and the northern people would not stand for it as well. Your rule would be full of rebellion. The Lannisters will offer protection and help, but they would encroach on your lands and privileges and soon you would be nothing but their underlings. And don't forget that the North is big and cold and winter is coming."

"Yes, yes," said Walder Frey. "All true. And why kill you for it when your son will give us a place in the North through the wedding bed. I will have our houses joined before I die, Eddard Stark. The slights and snubs of the past are over. The Frey name will be honored and I don't need Tywin Lannister's false friendship to see it done."

"I will see that it is," said Robb loudly, knowing he had to choose his words carefully here. "Frey blood and Stark blood will some day rule the North."

"Good, good," said Walder Frey. "As it should be."

"Does that mean Princess Myrcella is not coming to Winterfell?" Arya suddenly asked.

"Aye," her father said, and Robb could see the anger in his eyes. "And we have no time to force the Lannisters to agree to the peace terms."

Now Robb wondered if Tywin Lannister had somehow convinced the ironmen to attack when they did. It all seemed too neat to be mere happenstance. But he had no time to think on that. It was time to ask for what they came for.

"Lord Walder," Robb said next. "We have need of your bridge and need of haste."

Walder Frey's head bobbed up and down. "Very well. Your two thousand cavalry can pass."

"Thank you, my lord," Robb said with a bow. "I must see to my men."

"See that the bridges are down and the gates are opened," Walder Frey said to his sons and two of them went off. Soon they had made arrangements for the girls to come see Robb in the afternoon. They made their goodbyes and were soon back outside walking towards to their camp.

"Seven hells!" Arya said as they walked across the drawbridge towards their camp.

"Watch your tongue, young lady," her father said.

"They want to kill us! And he wants me to marry his son now!" she said in anger and amazement.

"Father put an end to that," Robb told her. "If only I was still a boy."

"You are a man and you will do your duty," his father said to him. "Some of them weren't too bad looking."

"Not many," Arya said with a little laugh and Robb just groaned in despair.

Robb's mother and Sansa were waiting for them and they quickly moved to the large tent where the other commanders were waiting, including Stevron and his son. Ned and Robb told them of the news of Renly's death and the fact that Tywin Lannister was plotting to kill them. There was outrage and harsh words and some said they should march south and much was discussed and all had their say until finally Robb spoke.

"We have no time to deal with Lannister treachery," he began. "We can only pray that Stannis Baratheon can defeat the Lannisters in the field. Lord Walder has ordered the bridge open. We must send a force north. Lord Umber will lead two thousand cavalry."

"Aye," said the Greatjon. "And it's about time."

"When Lord Bolton and his men arrive on the opposite bank they will rest for one day and then move north as well," Robb continued. "After my wedding we will then bring the rest of the army across and move north swiftly. So see to your men, make all preparations and see they are well rested and fed."

"Lord Stark," Stevron said to Robb as they moved to leave. "If Tywin Lannister made such an outrageous offer to my father you must know we had nothing to do with it."

"I do," Robb told him, although he really was not sure if the Freys had approached the Lannisters or visa versa. "There is no blame here, Ser Stevron."

"Thank you, my lord. But I worry though," Stevron continued. "If my father refused Lord Tywin, what will happen if the Lannisters win? Tywin Lannister is not a forgiving man."

"Aye," Robb said and all eyes were on him now. "Ser Stevron, soon we will be brothers. I pledge the North to your defense if the Lannisters attack you. What say you men and lady of the north?"

"Aye!" they all said and Stevron was visible relieved. "I thank you, my friends."

All of the commanders soon left and Robb and his family were left alone in the tent. They sat at the table and soon a servant came with platters of bread and meat and dried fruit and wine and water. The Starks ate and talked on things to come.

"We should have known better than to trust Tywin Lannister," Robb's mother said in anger after the servant left. "What will we do?"

"We will go home, as Robb said," Ned Stark told his family. They all agreed at once. "Bran and Rickon are waiting. Our people are waiting. We destroy the ironmen, we put things to right at Hornwood and the Dreadfort. Then we prepare for winter."

"What about Princess Myrcella?" Sansa asked, a sound of hope in her voice.

"If Tywin Lannister was planning some plot against us, most likely she will not come," Robb replied.

"No?" Sansa said and Robb could see she was upset by this. Perhaps they had become friends. Robb knew not.

"That is certain now," said his father, his anger smoldering. "Tywin Lannister never intended for her to come to Winterfell. He intended to have the Freys kill us all."

Catelyn gave a short bitter laugh. "Who would think Walder Frey would have any honor and tell us about a plot to kill us?" Then her eyes narrowed. "Maybe they still will."

"Then we should kill them first!" Arya declared.

"Stop that talk at once!" her mother said.

"Aye," said Ned Stark. "Give them no reason to distrust us."

"But how can we trust them?" asked Sansa, and Robb could hear the fear in her voice.

"We are surrounded by our men," Robb told her. "We still outnumber the Frey's more than three to one. Besides, I am going to marry one of them. Old Walder himself said why kill us when he can get what he wants through the marriage bed."

"Walder Frey is a treacherous, bitter old man," his mother retorted. "He may have told you of this plot to lull you into false security."

"Aye," said Robb's father. "None of you go anywhere without an escort." He looked to Arya. "No wandering off to the forge without someone at your side."

"Yes," she said at once.

"What did your future husband look like?" Sansa asked Arya with a giggle.

"He wasn't there," Arya told her.

"He's a page for Roose Bolton," Robb explained. "They still haven't arrived on the east bank."

"Poor lad," said Catelyn. "What a man to serve. He scares me."

"His son Ramsey Snow is worse," Ned said. "I should have dealt with him years ago. We must now deal with him when we arrive home. That will not go well with Roose."

"First the ironmen," Robb stated.

"No, first your wedding," said Arya and they all had a small laugh.

"Did you find one you like?" Robb's mother asked him, a look of worry on her face.

"I don't know," he said. "There are so many to pick from. I will meet them all one by one in the afternoon."

"Then it is a bath for you and a hair cut and a shave," his mother said at once. "The same for the rest of you. This whole army stinks and can be smelled in Winterfell I am sure. We have plenty of water now. I will see to the preparations." With that she left the tent.

"You rest for a bit," his father said to Robb as he stood. "I will see to our men before they leave."

"I should come as well," said Robb, standing with him.

"No. Rest. You have many young ladies to see this afternoon and a big decision to make. Perhaps your sisters can advise you on what to look for. I will send for you when they are ready to leave." With that his father left as well, and Robb was alone with his two sisters.

"Gods!" said Arya at once, pounding her fist on the table. "I should have killed Tywin Lannister at Harrenhal!"

"Don't be silly," Sansa admonished her. "They would have killed you and then we'd all be dead."

"He wants us dead!" Arya shot back.

"Aye," said Robb in a furor. "I knew what he was like from the stories. Father and Mother worried on this when we were at Riverrun. That's why he asked for Myrcella."

"Now she won't be coming," said Sansa with a sad sigh.

"Are you friends?" Robb asked, curious about this.

"What? Oh, yes," Sansa replied. "I told you we had some adventures on the way to Harrenhal."

"At least the Hound won't be in Winterfell," Arya said. "I hate him so much!"

Sansa glared at her. "He saved my life. Why can't you let it be?"

"He killed my friend," Arya snapped back. "A good deed doesn't make that go away."

She really wanted to kill him, Robb thought. What had happened to the little girl who used to be his sister? "Arya, the Hound is a monster. He'd kill you."

She nodded. "I know. Gendry said the same when I told him I wanted to kill the Hound."

"At least he has some sense," Sansa said and then she looked at her sister in a sly way. "What's going on between you two?"

"Nothing!" Arya said swiftly, her face turning a bit red. "He's just my friend."

"Mother doesn't think so," Robb told her.

"She hates him," Arya said in an angry tone. "Just because King Robert never said he was his father."

"I don't think she hates him too much now," Robb told her. "He saved your life. She treated his wounds. Why would she do that if she hated him?"

Arya's face grew a bit happier. "Maybe you're right."

"What did she say to him that night she talked to him?" Sansa asked, all eager for some gossip.

"She just wanted to know more about the trip to Harrenhal is all. At least that's what he told me."

"Oh," said Sansa. "I thought she was going to tell him to leave you alone."

"She'd better not!" Arya shot back.

Sansa's eyes lit up. "So there is something going on!"

"Maybe," Arya said shyly, looking at her two siblings, waiting for what they would say.

Robb knew he had to say it but felt bad. "It will mean trouble."

"Lots of trouble," Sansa added quickly.

"I don't care!" Arya replied fiercely. "All their stupid rules and promises. Why can't I like who I want to like?"

"He's too old for you," Sansa declared at once, as if that settled the whole matter.

"You mean he's not good enough!" Arya snapped.

"Age is no matter," said Robb. "In a few years it would make no difference. But…you are promised to the Frey boy."

"Father said he would never let me marry the Frey boy," Arya told them in a whisper.

"What?" Sansa said in surprise, leaning in on the table to hear more of this.

"He said winter is coming and it would be three of four years before there would be any wedding," Arya told them quietly. "And he would delay it as long as possible. I hope the Frey boy gets kicked by a horse or falls in the river."

Robb laughed and so did Sansa and Arya couldn't help but laugh as well. But then Robb realized something. "Walder Frey has other sons, and many grandsons as well. He will see you married to one of them."

Arya growled in frustration. "Gods! Maybe I'll just run away!"

"With Gendry, you mean?" Sansa asked in a teasing tone.

"Why not?" Arya said and Robb and Sansa looked at each other and then at Arya in shock.

"Don't even think about it," Robb said to her in a harsh tone. "Father would hunt you down and drag you back to Winterfell and put your man in irons for the rest of his life."

"Then I'll run away by myself!" Arya declared. "I…I'll go to the Free Cities and become a sellsword. When I am older I'll come back and marry who I want."

Now Robb and Sansa laughed and Arya scowled at first and then laughed as well. "It sounds like a fairy tale," Sansa said and then her face grew sad. "A forbidden love story."

"Love?" Robb said in surprise and he looked at Arya. "You are too young to understand love."

"Oh?" she shot back. "And do you, big brother? Do you understand love?"

"No," he said ruefully. "And now they are making me pick a girl I don't know for my wife. In a day or two I will have to wed her and bed her and…" Gods, what was he saying, in front of his sisters! "Forgive me, I should not speak of this."

"Don't be stupid," Arya said. "We all know what happens in the wedding bed."

"Arya!" Sansa said in shock.

"What?" Arya retorted "I'm not a stupid little girl anymore."

"True enough," said Robb with a hint of regret. "Well, little sister, your smith is not high on Mother's list of potential husbands for you, that is certain, despite his royal parentage. But you know Father likes him and I find him to be pleasant enough."

Arya's face lit up as he said this and then she looked at Sansa. "Well?"

"He's…well, he's handsome," Sansa admitted. "And he's tall and strong and brave. But…but…"

"He's low born," Arya said with a downcast face and Sansa only nodded.

"I'm sorry, Arya," she said and she reached out and took her sister's hand and squeezed and Arya would not look at them and only mumbled again, "It's not fair."

"Aye," said Robb, feeling bad for her. Did she really care for him that much? How could it have happened so fast? She only knew him for a month. Could the same happen to me? Could I grow to care for a woman I barely know on my wedding day?

Then he looked at Sansa. She was so pretty and would make a good wife for any man. Was he responsible to find her a match now or was that still Father's duty? She had been spurned by the King, thankfully, but she had had a hard time in King's Landing and he had not said a word to her about this yet.

"I am sorry for what happened to you in King's Landing."

"Not your fault," Sansa said sadly. "I am just glad I don't have to marry Joffrey. He is truly a monster."

"At least we agree on that much," said Arya. Robb had heard the story about how Joffrey had ordered Sansa beaten. His blood had boiled in rage when he heard it from his father and he swore that some day he would kill Ser Meryn and Joffrey both.

Arya was talking to him. "Father said you have to meet these girls. What will you ask them?"

That threw him. "I…I don't know. Ah…I guess I should know their age, for one."

"Yes," said Sansa. "And find out whose daughter they are as well. Not all of the Freys are the same, Mother said."

"You wouldn't want that old drunk Ryman's daughter," said Arya with a look of disgust.

"Aye," Robb answered. "I don't even know if he has a daughter. There are too many of them!"

"Then let's make it easier," said Sansa. "What color hair do you like on a girl?"

Robb felt his face blush and his sisters giggled at him. "Come on. Tell us true, brother," Arya teased.

"Brown maybe. Or a bit blond, but not too much."

"Eyes?" Sansa asked next.

"Most of them are grey eyed, so there is not much choice there," Robb told them. "But if I have to choose, blue. Brown is fine as well."

"Good," Sansa said. "Now, tall or short, big or small…"

"Fat or thin, you mean," Arya said as she nibbled on some cheese.

"Not too fat," Robb replied. "But she should be womanly." Then he turned red again. "I…I mean, she should look like a woman."

"He means she should have teats," said Arya as if she was discussing the weather and after a shocked gasp from Sansa all three started laughing again.

"I am glad to see someone has something to laugh about," said their father as he stuck his head in the tent. "Time to see our men off north."

They came out of the tent, and there was a long line of horsemen over by the drawbridge. They were already prepared to move across. Ned and Robb hurried over to where the Greatjon was standing by his large warhorse. Ned handed him a rolled up parchment sealed in wax.

"If you see Howland Reed this letter is for him," he told the Greatjon.

"Aye," the big man replied. "Him and his bog men will make good allies if the Moat has fallen."

"Maester Luwin's last message said that his children already believe their father has moved against the Moat," Robb told him.

"It will be seven or eight days before I am there," the Greatjon said. "We will have the door open when you come home with your bride, Lord Stark."

"Have a care, Lord Umber," Robb told him. "If you cannot take it, then wait for us. Don't lose your men in useless assaults."

"Aye," Lord Umber replied. "We will take care to husband our force. Shame there is no way to surprise them there."

His father looked thoughtful, as if thinking deeply on something. "I've know Howland Reed many years. He always said that his crannogmen know many hidden roads through the bogs. Maybe with his help we can find a way past and take them from two sides at once."

"A good plan, if possible," said the Greatjon. "I wish I could be here for the wedding and the bedding. But I have ironmen to kill. By your leave, my lords."

"May the gods be with you," Ned Stark told him.

The Greatjon climbed on his horse and bellowed to his men. "Time to kill ironmen!" he shouted and they all roared in approval and moved across the great bridge and the wide river. It took a long time for them to pass and then behind them came many supply wagons and soon they were all over and then gone up the north side of the Green Fork.

As they watched them leave, Catelyn Stark found them. "Baths, all of you, now." And without waiting for a reply she strode off and they all followed her, knowing better than to argue.

Two tents had been set up for the baths, one for men and one for women. Great kettles and pots had been set up on wooden fires outside and water was heating up. Robb welcomed the bath and soak himself through and afterward a barber trimmed his beard and hair. In his tent he found some decent clothing laid out, the same he had worn for the ceremony at Riverrun when Tyrion Lannister had read out the terms of the peace treaty. All gone to hell, now, he thought. Mother was right. They never should have trusted Tywin Lannister. Some of his commanders had argued for marching south again and taking Harrenhal and then striking the Lannisters from behind as Stannis hit them from the south. Robb thought on it but his father had said their supplies were low, the fall rains were coming and they had enemies enough in the North. His words of wisdom and caution had carried the day and all agreed that they must go home. Once Moat Cailin was retaken they would fortify it more strongly and leave a large force of archers and knights to block the passage.

Afternoon came and Robb sat in his tent at a table in his fine clothing and with many candles lit. A flagon of wine and one of water was on the table with two cups. His squire, a Frey boy name Olyvar, stood by to serve and to announce each of his female relations as they came to the tent.

As they waited Robb spoke to him. "Which is the prettiest?" he asked.

"Roslin," Olyvar said right away and Robb laughed.

"That's your sister, is it not?"

"Yes, my lord, but I speak true."

"Perhaps," said Robb. The boy did not have the weak chin of the Frey's and had brown hair and brown eyes. Their mother was a Rosby, the sixth wife of Walder Frey, Robb seemed to remember. She was now dead as were all his wives except the last one, a girl no older than Robb.

"Tell me about your sister," Robb commanded, unable to remember her from the morning's hasty scene in the castle.

"She is fair to look on, my lord," he said at once. "She has long brown hair and brown eyes. She likes music. She is ten and six years of age."

Robb was almost the same. "Very well. I will see her last. If you say she is the fairest, I had better see the rest first, so as to better judge your claim."

"As you say, my lord," the boy replied.

Robb suddenly heard a lot of noise outside his tent and there were high pitched giggles and female voices. Robb took a deep breath. "I am ready." Olyvar led in the first girl and the selection process began.

It took almost two hours and by the end Robb's head was spinning, either from too much wine, too much perfume, or just too much of the Freys. They were a mixed lot, fair and not so fair, fat and thin, and tall and short, older than him and younger than him. Many were shy and hardly spoke any words. All were very nervous, but a few were bold enough. He asked them their names and ages and what they liked and did not like and could they ride a horse and could they read, and if they liked to cook and do needle work and some other things his mother had suggested and a few things his father had advised. Robb almost laughed when the one called Fat Walda was brought in. She had teats a plenty and was very robust but she was far too shy and mumbled her words. Two twins called Serra and Sarra insisted on coming in together and Robb said he could only marry one of them and their faces fell. Finally, at the end Olyvar led his sister Roslin into the tent.

She was fair to look on, perhaps one of the fairest, Robb knew right away. She was very thin and had long brown hair and brown eyes and did not have the weasel look or weak chin of many of the others. There was a slight gap in her teeth, he saw when she smiled, but somehow that made her look sweeter.

"Please sit," Robb said as her brother poured her some wine in a clean cup.

"Thank you, my lord," Roslin said as she sat. Her voice was soft but not too quiet. She looked down and would not meet his eyes for a moment. She was very nervous he could see. Robb took a drink of wine and she did the same and then seemed to relax a bit as she drank.

"My name is Lord Robb Stark of Winterfell," he told her.

She looked up. "I know, my lord. My name is Roslin Frey. I am the fifth daughter of seven of Lord Walder Frey of the Twins. My mother was Lady Bethany Rosby."

"Your brother Olyvar tells me she has passed. I am sorry I never met her."

"That is most kind of you to say, my lord."

"How old are you Roslin?"

"Six and ten, a moon's turn past, my lord."

"Have you been here all you life?"

"No, my lord. Once we traveled to Rosby. But that was when mother was still with us."

"Rosby is a long way from here. Did you ride a horse?"

"I was but a small girl at the time, my lord. But now I can ride well."

"Good," Robb said as he sipped more wine and she did the same. "The North is big. We ride everywhere."

"Yes, my lord."

"Your brother tells me you are fond of music."

"Yes, my lord. I can sing, but a little, and have taken lessons on the wood harp. I prefer to listen to others more skilled."

"Perhaps you are too modest," Robb said and she blushed a little and that made him smile. "My sister Sansa loves music."

"Does she play and sing well?"

"Er…I am not sure actually," Robb said and he wasn't. He had spent his days on horseback and at sword play and hunting and listening to his father explain how to be a lord. Until recent events he had hardly ever spent time with his sisters. Maybe that should end. Now it was time to get to the point.

"Roslin, you know why you are here?"

"Yes, my lord. You are searching for a wife."

"Aye," he told her. "Your lord father and I have an agreement and promises were made and I am here to fulfill them. I understand that this may seem like an unusual way for you to meet a husband. So I would ask you something and I would like truthful answers."

"Of course, my lord," she said, looking at him with big eyes now, no doubt wondering what this man of the North wanted from her besides her maidenhead.

"Does your heart belong to another?" he asked. He had asked all the girls and all had said no but in at least two of them he saw it as a lie.

"No, my lord," she replied right away.

"Good," Robb said and he was sure it was no lie. "Now, if we are wed you will come to Winterfell. My Mother is still the Lady of Winterfell, and some day you would be as well. You would be under her charge and she would teach you all there is of our ways and how to run our household. It may involve hard work from time to time. I would expect you to do your duties faithfully. I would not ask you for your hand if you feel you cannot do so."

She did not hesitated. "I understand, my lord. I have some experience already. My lord father has no idle hands in his castle. We all do our duty, helping raise the younger children, taking turns to help with the cooking and washing and cleaning. It is not a lady's work but my father insisted we all do so. I do not fear hard work."

"That is good," Robb said. He had heard the same answer from the others but some he could see had resented having to do servant's work and maybe they thought being lady of Winterfell they would never have to do so again. "There is just one more thing."

"Yes, my lord?"

"I will not ask for your hand if you do not want me to. Tell if you wish to be my lady wife or not."

Now she looked at him steadily. "My lord, may I speak freely?"

"Aye." What was this? All the others had said 'yes' immediately.

"All of the girls have spoken of nothing else for the past week since we heard you were coming," Roslin said. "All have heard of your bravery and how you captured Jaime Lannister and defeated his army at Riverrun. All have stars in their eyes, hoping to be a lady of Winterfell."

For some reason she paused and Robb thought she was done and he thought she was rejecting him and strangely he found a sense of disappointment start to overwhelm him. "But not you?" he said in a downcast tone.

He couldn't have been more wrong. "No, my lord, oh, no. I have wished the same. But I care not for your victories or prowess in battle. I just want to know if you are a good man."

"I think I am a good man," Robb said at once.

"That is good to know, my lord," she said, now looking at him boldly. "Because there are few good men in these parts. I would be happy to accept your marriage proposal if offered."

Now he thought he understood. Living here, with her old father and his sons and her brothers and cousins and all the rest, she has found no truly good men. Maybe no good women either. Maybe she meant they were always squabbling over the inheritance. Or maybe it was something else, he did not know. But she was unhappy here, he could see.

"Very well," Robb said with a smile that made her blush again. "It has been a pleasure to met you, Roslin. Olyvar, see your sister out."

Robb stood and Roslin did as well, took one last look at him, then she smiled and turned and left with her brother.

Robb collapsed in his chair, exhausted, and not a minute later his mother, father and two sisters were barging into his tent.

"Well?" his father asked, the air heavy with expectation.

"Aye," Robb said. He had decided, and now that it came to it he wondered why he had been so worried. "Her, the last one. Roslin."

Arya and Sansa both let out little shrieks of joy and his father said, "Very well." But his mother looked worried.

"Her mother was a Rosby," she said. " They are not known for being robust. The girl is very thin."

"I don't understand," Robb said to her.

"For child bearing," his mother explained. "A woman should be…robust."

"She means fat," Arya explained.

"No, I mean wider hips," Catelyn Stark said and she looked at her two daughters. "When your time comes to push a baby into the world you will understand my meaning."

Sansa and Arya both had wide eyes as she said this. "I'll never have babies," Arya declared.

"Your husband may think differently," said her mother. Arya smoldered but said nothing.

"Not for many years yet, my little wolf," Arya's father said as he mussed her hair and Arya beamed at him.

"The Rosbys have always been a sickly family," Catelyn continued, in worry. "I will talk to the maester to ask on her health."

"Very well," said Robb. "But if not her, then I guess we shall have to fight for the bridge."

"Aye?" said his father with a stern look, then he relaxed. "So, you have decided. That is good."

"Now what do we do?" Robb asked. He had no clue what happens in a wedding.

"Now I go speak to Walder Frey," said Ned Stark. "As your father I will make the marriage contract and he dare not snub me as he did this morning. I will tell him who you have chosen. He must provide a dowry. Crossing a bridge is no wedding gift. I will make him give some coin and supplies for our army. That should suffice. We must find something to give to the girl as well."

"Give her a sword," said Arya at once. "So I can teach her how to fight."

"I don't want my wife carrying a sword," Robb declared. "She likes music. Perhaps a wood harp?"

His father shook his head. "Walder Frey will see that as an insult. It must be gold, or jewels."

"We have plenty of things to give her in Winterfell," Catelyn said. "It can wait."

"It must be now," her husband replied. "We must ask through the camp, to find some gold to melt down, to make into a decent wedding gift."

"We have no goldsmith," Robb reminded him.

"Gendry can do it!" Arya declared quickly.

"Don't they have a goldsmith here?" Sansa suggested quickly, ignoring what Arya said.

"Perhaps," said Ned. "I will ask. Time is of importance. Let us set to work, my family."

Suddenly Catelyn gasped. "I forgot!" she said to Robb. "You have no wedding cloak!"

"We can make one," said Sansa at once. "We can take some cloth and sew a direwolf into it."

"Make it Grey Wind, if you can," Robb asked.

"As you wish," his mother said. "Come girls, we having sewing to do."

"I'm no good at sewing," Arya said.

"Come with me to the forge then," Robb asked her. "We best find out if your…if Gendry can work gold or not."

As they came out of the tent a large crowd of Stark bannermen and lords and soldiers was waiting. "What news, my lords?" Lord Galbart Glover asked at once.

"We shall have a wedding," Ned Stark told them and a great cheer went up that carried along the river bank far and wide.

Stevron Frey and his son were there as well. "Who has he decided on?" Ryman asked, seeming drunk.

"I will discuss that with your grandfather," Ned told him. "Come, Ser Stevron. I have wedding plans to discuss with your father. Lord Glover, accompany me if you would."

"Aye," said Galbart Glover and the three men walked off towards the castle.

"Who did he pick?" Ryman asked again but no one talked to him and he just stood there with a stupid look on his drunken face as everyone dispersed.

"She's not his daughter, is she?" Sansa asked in worry as they walked away.

"No," said Robb. "Actually, she is one of Walder Frey's daughters. His fifth of seven she said. My squire is her brother."

Soon Catelyn and Sansa made their goodbyes to start making the wedding cloak and Arya and Robb were walking through the camp towards where Arya said Gendry had set up his forge near the river bank north of the castle. Grey Wind ran up to them and Arya ruffled his fur as they walked.

"I wish Nymeria was still with me," she said sadly.

"That was a terrible business on the Kingsroad," Robb said.

"Joffrey and the Hound and the Queen…I hate them all!"

"Aye," he replied. "The Hound may have saved Sansa's life but he is still a murderous dog."

"He should die."

"Some day he will. All men die," Robb told her.

They were silent for a minute thinking on that and then Arya spoke again. "Why did you pick her?"

Why indeed? "She's pretty," he told her after some hesitation. "She likes music. She's was not afraid to talk to me. She said she cared not for my victories or battle skill, only wanted to know if I was a good man or not."

"You are," said Arya and Robb felt good inside.

"Come, let's go see if your man can work gold."

She playfully punched his arm. "Don't call him that!"

"Aye," said Robb. "I suppose I shouldn't when so many Frey ears are nearby."

They found Gendry and the little boy called Tim with the old soldier who drove the wagon by the forge near the river bank north of the west bank castle. Gendry was heating a sword in the forge as Tim pumped the bellows and the old soldier stood by cleaning the sides of their horses. Gendry's face lit up when he saw Arya but he wiped the look off his face when he saw who was with her.

"My lord," he said as he dipped his head and Tim and the old soldier did the same.

"How's your shoulder?" Arya asked him right away.

"Getting better, but I have to use my left arm to beat the steel. Makes it awkward. Tried my right arm but it's still too sore."

"Make sure you don't open the stitches!" she admonished him. "Let me have a look. Take off your shirt."

"After," Robb said to her. "Gendry, can you work gold?"

"A bit. It's soft and easy to pound flat when heated a bit, and it melts well. I've melted it and poured it in a mold before. But I cannot make the molds or shape it in any fancy way."

"Aye," Robb said, nodding his head. "Hopefully the Twins will have a goldsmith."

"We need to make a wedding gift for his wife," Arya explained.

"There is to be a wedding?" Gendry asked.

"Aye, my wedding, on the morrow, perhaps," Robb told him.

"Just your wedding?" Gendry asked with a quick glance towards Arya and Robb knew what he was trying to ask.

"Aye," he answered. "Just mine."

"That is good news, my lord," he answered with a big smile.

"Thank you. I am sure we will have some tents with much food and drink for the men of the army."

"That would be good, my lord," Gendry replied.

"Well, I guess…" Robb began to say but then little Tim shouted.

"It's a boat!"

They all turned to where he was pointing and coming down river from the north was a small boat with two men in it. They rowed towards the west bank and in a few moments had pulled up to the shore. The men climbed out, pulled their boat onto the bank, and started walking up the bank towards Robb and the others. The men were short of stature and had brown hair and wore green and brown clothing. Both had short swords at their sides and short bows with arrow quivers across their backs.

"Tim," Robb said to the little boy. "Run and find some soldiers and bring them here."

Tim ran off and Robb looked at his sister. "Don't draw your sword yet," he said. "Let us see who they are first."

She only nodded, and put her hand on Needle as Gendry picked up his big hammer and the old soldier came to stand beside them.

"Bog men," the old soldier spat and Robb could now see it was true. He had met few of the crannogmen over the years, but these two had the look for sure. And who else would be rowing down from the north on the Green Fork?

Robb shouted to them when they neared the top of the bank. "Stop there and state your business."

The two looked tired and stopped to catch their breath before speaking. "We are looking for Lord Stark," said one of them.

"I am Lord Robb Stark of Winterfell."

"We need to see your father," said the other, who was just a bit taller than his companion but still much shorter than Robb or Gendry. "We have news from Howland Reed."

"My father is in the castle now," Robb said. "Come, tell me what news."

The two men climbed the rest of the way as Tim came back with ten men, some of the North, some of the Twins, Robb saw by their sigils.

The crannogmen were tired and Gendry gave them some water and they drank and thanked him.

"What news have you brought?" Robb asked when they were refreshed.

"Moat Cailin fell, more then ten days past," said one of them. "The ironmen are in all three towers, with many archers."

"Damn," Robb replied and there was a murmur of anger among the men around Robb. "How many men? How many ships?"

"Six ships we saw in Saltspear," said the other crannogman. "They could not get their big ships far up river but it was close enough to the Moat. They landed a few hundred men and many supplies by small boats. We think maybe Victarion Greyjoy is their leader."

That was ill news. He was a fearsome warrior, Robb had heard. "What else?"

"We have established ourselves nearby," said the first crannogman. "But we have no strength to attack the Moat. We tried to burn their ships but they stay far out from the shore and our fire arrows caused little damage. But we have whittled their numbers some when they tried to resupply."

"That's good," said Arya.

"We have even graver news, though," said the second man. "Some of your men came north soon after Moat Cailin fell. They were surprised and most of them slaughtered by the ironmen."

"Rickard Karstark?" Robb asked in worry and the man nodded and there were more angry words and promises of revenge from the men around him, even though most of them had had harsh things to say about the Karstarks a few weeks past.

"We found his body under his horse," the crannogmen continued. "He had three arrows in him. He soon died. They came near sunset, footsore and tired, and were ambushed as they approached the towers. We had just begun moving into the nearby swamps and had no time to warn them. When the attack began they lost many men in the first arrow volley. Then they kept charging forward, trying to reach the tower doors, the fools. Only about forty had the sense to retreat and survived. They are with us now."

Robb thanked them for their news and saw that they were taken care of, and given food and drink and a place to rest. Later they said they must see Walder Frey and Robb's father. As Robb stood on the edge of the river bank looking at the river and the two castles he gritted his teeth and felt some grief for those men of the North now lost.

"It's my fault," he said as his sister stood beside him. "I should never have let them go. I should have found a way to make peace with the Karstarks."

"You didn't order them to charge," she told him. "It's his fault for being stupid."

"Moat Cailin is too strong," Robb said. "And with Victarion Greyjoy in command, it will cost us too many men to take it back."

But Arya wasn't paying attention to him. She was looking down at the river's edge. "Look, a turtle."

Before he could stop her she ran down and picked up the small turtle and carried it back up to him. "Look," she said with a grin. "I'm going to keep it."

"Arya, let it go. It needs the water to live."

"But something will eat it." Grey Wind growled at the turtle as if to emphasize the point.

"Its shell will protect it," Robb said and she reluctantly agreed and returned the turtle to the water.

As she came back up, puffing with the effort the last few steps, suddenly an idea exploded in Robb's head. He looked at the turtle crawling back into the water and suddenly it was so clear to him. He was sure it had been done before, somewhere, but now it needed to be done again. But to do it he needed some help.

He turned and looked at Gendry, working the sword in the hot coals of the forge again. He was just an apprentice armorer but he knew so much already, Arya had said. Yes, Robb thought, Gendry could do the job with some help. It just might work and save a lot of lives in the bargain. It had to work, or they might never get home again.


	23. Chapter 23 Jaime

**Ned Stark Lives! Chapter 23 Jaime**

The Lannister host arrived at King's Landing late in the afternoon of the same day that the news that Stannis Baratheon had destroyed the Tyrell host reached the city. The news took three days to reach King's Landing. The men who had been entrusted to protect Lord Baelish told the terrible tale, or what little they knew of it at least. They had seen fire spread across the fields and engulf the Tyrell camp and then they had fled before they were overwhelmed. When the leader of Baelish's group reported to the King and Queen Regent, Cersei had him dragged off and hung for failing to rescue Lord Baelish from the debacle. The body now dangled from the battlements over the King's Gate near the southwestern corner of the city.

Ser Jaime Lannister had known none of this yet while he and his father and uncle Kevan and the other commanders sat on their horses while their men marched off the Kingsroad and began to deploy into the fields southwest of the city along the banks of the Blackwater Rush. Lord Tywin immediately ordered patrols to take the ferry across the river and at the same time the men were told to build defenses on the river banks to forestall any crossing by Stannis' army. Patrols were also sent upriver to where the first bridge and fords across the river stood.

As the men moved into position, the large commander's pavilion was going up in a field and Jaime's father waved them forward towards it. "Come, we have much to discuss."

"Shouldn't we see the King first, Tywin?" Kevan Lannister asked.

"Bending the knee to my grandson is the least of my worries now, Kevan," Tywin Lannister said in a grim tone. "Renly Baratheon is dead, I know not where the Tyrells are nor Stannis Baratheon's army or fleet. We will see to our security first, and pay honors to the King later."

They rode toward the pavilion where many men were hurrying to set up benches and tables. They also began to light braziers and cooking fires. All around them the great host was preparing defenses and lighting fires for the evening meal.

Jaime climbed off his horse, and a squire took it away. He was wearing borrowed chain mail and had a sword at his side he did not feel comfortable with. All his belongings he had been captured with in the Whispering Wood had 'gone missing' according to Robb Stark when they released him from his cell. No doubt his expensive armor and arms would soon adorn a wall in some smoky great hall that smelled of cow shit in some northern hovel they called a castle. As the lord drank his piss ale and gnawed on a fatty bone of mutton he would regale his subjects with tales of how he unhorsed the great Jaime Lannister in battle. No one had unhorsed him while he still had a sword in his hand. He had been surrounded and struck in the head from behind and dragged off his horse. Six or seven of them had felt the sting of his steel before that had happened, but Robb Stark had not been one of them. Jaime did not know why it vexed him so, but this boy half his age rankled him to no end. Maybe it was because he had never been defeated in battle before. Oh, for certain he had lost a tournament or two, but when life was on the line he had always won. Until now.

Jaime felt his body ache as he climbed down from his horse. He was sore and tired and out of shape. Sitting in a Tully prison cell for over a month had robbed him of much of his vitality and strength. Slowly he felt his body get back into its former condition as they rode south. First, they had stopped at Harrenhal and his father ordered Ser Amory Lorch out to Maidenpoole with one thousand men to find Vargo Hoat and kill him and bring his head back to Lord Tywin.

Jamie had also seen his daughter Princess Myrcella there and spoke with her briefly to say hello. She had been happy to see him and said she was glad he was free and well. His father had told him she would be a hostage to the Starks and would soon leave under escort with the Hound and fifty men towards the Twins. Jaime did not like that one bit, and when he talked to the Hound he got the story of what had happened on the road north, and he worried more. He had never acknowledged Myrcella as his daughter but she was his and for some odd reason when he saw her he felt some fatherly affection. That was odd. He had seen her many times in King's Landing but had no such feelings in the past. What has that prison cell done to me, Jaime wondered once again.

They tarried at Harrenhal only for two days to finish preparations for the move south. Just as they were about to leave a raven arrived from King's Landing telling them that Renly Baratheon was dead. Then the great host had packed camp and after leaving a small garrison at Harrenhal had moved south. Ten days they had been on the Kingsroad, and it would have been more but the weather held fine for the most part. The land was devastated and only now the farmers were setting to trying to plant for one last harvest before winter.

On the second day there had been a small incident as they meet Beric Dondarrion and several dozen men making their way north. Dondarrion was brought before Jaime's father and they had a few brief words and then Lord Tywin set them on their way again. From Dondarrion they learned that Gregor Clegane and Tyrion had both passed by on their way south.

As he rode south Jaime could think of nothing more than Cersei, of seeing her again and having her once more. Now as they stood in the fields southwest of the King's Landing, Jaime looked towards the walls of the city in the fading daylight and desperately wanted to go there, to find Cersei and kiss her and bed her until she could stand it no more. It had been far too long since they had laid together and his recent imprisonment had made him realize how sweet freedom and love could really be.

"I should go to the city to see Tyrion and tell him we have arrived," Jaime said to his father as Lord Tywin and the other commanders sat inside the pavilion and food and wine was brought.

"They are not blind," said his father. "If your brother has any sense he will come to us before long. I don't expect your sister or the King will join him. They will wait for us to come to them."

Sure enough, not twenty minutes later, Tyrion and a dark haired, dark eyed man in leather armor came riding into the camp. Jaime went to greet them as they climbed off their horses.

"Dear brother," Jaime said with affection. "We meet again. I am sorry I could not have seen you sooner to thank you for securing my release."

"Perhaps Ned Stark is more deserving of your thanks," Tyrion replied. "If he had not convinced his son and the Tullys and the others that continuing our war was folly, then you would still be languishing in a cell."

"I am sure you would have found a clever way to rescue me."

Tyrion raised his eyebrows. "I think not. Even brave Bronn here balked at the thought of such an audacious endeavor."

"Bronn, is it?" Jaime asked looking at the man with his brother. "Oh, yes, you killed the Arryn knight to free Tyrion from the Vale. I do hope you have been well rewarded for your services. Lannisters always pay their debts you know."

"Aye, I've heard it said once or twice," Bronn replied. "So far, can't complain."

"Yet, you still do," said Tyrion to the sellsword. "Bronn, I need have words with my father. Find some way to amuse yourself without killing anyone."

"Maybe I should just stay here with the horses."

"A good idea."

Jaime found their interchange odd. Tyrion had always surrounded himself with smart, clever people like himself, people he could bandy words with over the endless subjects that interested him. Yet, here was this sellsword, a rough and uncouth man, who probably could not even read or write, and here Tyrion was getting along with him as if they had known each other for years. Very odd.

"Tyrion," Lord Tywin said curtly as they entered the open pavilion and sat at the table with the rest, who were now eating and drinking. "What news of the city?"

"News of battle outside the city first, Father," Tyrion told them as he poured a cup of wine. "Stannis Baratheon has defeated the Tyrells."

There was a sudden quiet in the pavilion as everyone stopped eating and stared at Jaime's little brother. He always had a way with words and these simple words he spoke had more impact than anything he could have said in a more clever way.

"When?" Lord Tywin asked immediately.

"Three days past, but the news just came to us this morning," Tyrion told them. "We sent Lord Baelish to negotiate a treaty with the Tyrells. He has now disappeared and the men we sent with him have returned with their tails between their legs. They tell a story of a field of fire, and chaos in the Tyrell camp and of Stannis' hordes thundering down on their enemies. They fled before they saw much else."

"They ran away without trying to rescue Baelish?" Jaime asked.

"Yes," his brother replied. "While Baelish is no friend of mine, Cersei was quite put out and has already hung the commander of Baelish's small force on the city gates."

Lord Tywin grunted. "Baelish is either dead or captured and of no more use to us. It would be better if he was dead so he could not tell Stannis of our defenses or plans."

"What news of Mace Tyrell and the other southern lords?" Kevan asked next.

"We know nothing," Tyrion told them. "They could be dead, or fled south."

The next half an hour they spent discussing their options and listening to Tyrion's reports on the defenses of the city and the activities of Gregor Clegane in the Kingswood.

Finally, after listening most of the time Lord Tywin spoke. "We need more information. Send large mounted patrols deeper south. We need to know where the Baratheon army is and what happened to the Tyrells. I want prisoners taken, alive and talking. We will not move until we know more. That is all. See to your men and our defenses. We will not be taken by surprise like the Tyrells were."

With that the commanders rose and left and Jaime and Tyrion stayed with their father. "I have more news, of the north," Tyrion said right away. "Varys' little birds report that ironmen are supposedly attacking Moat Cailin."

"Ironmen?" Jaime said in surprise. "Typical brigands, making a grab for plunder while the Starks are away from home."

"Perhaps more than mere plunder," Tyrion replied. "If they take Moat Cailin they can block the Stark host from returning home."

"That is the Stark's problem, not ours," Lord Tywin replied curtly. "If Balon Greyjoy wants to get himself involved in these matters then let him. We will deal with him later if the Starks don't first."

"Speaking of Starks," Tyrion started. "Lord Varys has a spy at the Twins. Apparently, the Starks have arrived and Robb Stark has chosen a bride to be. The spy says they are all getting along quite well."

"Indeed?" said Lord Tywin, his face calm. "Then perhaps they can join forces and deal with these ironmen."

"Varys says the Starks have already sent some men north to deal with them and will wait for the wedding to be completed before sending the rest of their army north."

"When Myrcella arrives, don't you mean," said Jaime. "At Harrenhal the Hound told me the Princess would move to the Twins when our army moved south."

"Apparently not," Tyrion replied, with a suspicious look to his father. Something was up between them, Jaime could tell. Tyrion was clever, far too clever for his own good sometimes, and Father was just as clever, if not more.

"Very well, Tyrion," Lord Tywin said in an impatient tone. "You have put your mind to it. Tell me what you think."

"You told me to tell Cersei that Myrcella would never go to Winterfell," Tyrion began. "I have a notion that you made a deal with the Freys to do something to the Starks. Delay them. Deny them the bridge. Maybe even kill them in their beds."

"A wonderful idea," Jaime said at once. "But I do hope they save Robb Stark for me. I would like to clash swords with him and show him once and for all who the better man is."

But Tyrion barely heard what he had said and was looking intently at their father. "You do not deny it?" Tyrion asked.

"Some battles are won with men and horses, others with gold and letters," Lord Tywin told them.

"So," Tyrion said. "What did you promise Walder Frey besides gold in your letter?"

"Nothing was promised, only hinted at," said their father. "But perhaps it was a waste of ink and parchment if he is letting Robb Stark marry one of his brood."

"Walder Frey may be an old, bitter man," Jaime told them. "But he would not have the stomach to attack the Starks in the midst of their army. They outnumber his men three to one. And we are too far away to help."

"No matter what happens at the Twins, Princess Myrcella will stay at Harrenhal," Lord Tywin stated strongly. "We will use this attack by the ironmen as our reason for delay. They cannot guarantee her safety while ironmen run rampant in the north, so she will stay safe at Harrenhal. Now, let us put this aside and discuss other matters."

"As you wish," Tyrion replied, although Jaime could tell he was still not satisfied. "What news of Vargo Hoat?"

"Ser Amory Lorch is hunting for Vargo Hoat's head as we speak," Jaime told him. "He may already have it."

"Good," Tyrion said with some relish. "I only wish I could mount Baelish's head on a spike beside it."

"Perhaps Stannis has already done so," Lord Tywin told him. "I thought to find Lord Baelish in a black cell. What ever possessed your sister to send him as an envoy?"

"She believes him innocent of fermenting war," Tyrion replied in disgust as he sipped some more wine. "Or at least that it is only the Stark's word against his and that we have great need of Littlefinger's skill with coin."

"What did the King have to say about all this?" Jaime wanted to know. His son, he should say, but that would not do in front of his father.

"Joffrey cares not for council meetings or the running of the kingdom," Tyrion told them. "All he wants to do is play with his toys and shout orders at terrified servants. Oh, and have little girls beaten."

Lord Tywin's eyes narrowed. "What's this?"

"Apparently my nephew enjoyed having Sansa Stark beaten. I take it the Hound made no mention of this at Harrenhal. He stopped it and Joffrey dismissed him."

Lord Tywin took a deep breath. "The boy needs to be taken in hand and taught how to be a king, not a tyrant. The realm has had enough of those in the past."

"That was his father's job," said Tyrion, with a quick glance at Jaime that he quickly cast away again. Was he blaming me somehow? Jaime thought. I was never there. Cersei had wanted him to stay as far away from their children as possible.

"And his mother's," Jaime added swiftly so they would not linger too long on what Tyrion had said.

"It is too late for recriminations," Lord Tywin told his sons. "We have a war to win. Tyrion, return to the city. Tell Cersei and the King, if he will listen, that Jaime and I will arrive tomorrow before noon. I don't want any grand spectacle. We are still at war and no battles have been won yet. We will meet them in the small council room. After the meeting, tell Varys I want all his reports, to come to me and me alone first."

"As you command, Father," said Tyrion as he stood and drained his cup of wine. "On the morrow."

Jaime stood and went with his brother to their horses where the man Bronn was still waiting. "So what's the plan?" Bronn asked right away.

"There is no plan," Tyrion told him. "No one knows where Stannis is."

"Once we find him we will make him wish he never left Dragonstone," Jaime replied with a grin.

But his brother was not grinning. "Jaime, I did not say this in front of Father for he would only scoff at me," Tyrion said quietly. "But the men who returned from the Tyrell camp told us a very strange tale. They claim a wave of fire filled the air and engulfed the Tyrells before Stannis attacked. Men burst into flames, horses as well, and tents and supply wagons were engulfed."

"Fire is a common weapon in war, little brother."

"There were no fire arrows, no barrels of oil, nothing flammable. Only a grey mist that came down on them and burst in their midst."

Jaime looked at Tyrion in puzzlement. "What are you saying?"

"Stannis is reported to have a priestess of Asshai in his camp."

"Sorcery?" Jaime said in a scoffing tone. "You must be joking."

"That's what I said," Bronn told him. "Men see all kinds of funny things in battle and later get it all twisted around. And that lot shit themselves and ran before they saw much anyway."

"See what I must deal with?" Tyrion said in an exasperated tone as he looked at Bronn and shook his head. "Even my own men don't believe me. And now you too, big brother."

Jaime could see he was hurt and was covering it up with his way with words as usual. "If it was true, what could we do about it?"

"Fight fire with fire," Tyrion told him in an excited manner. "Cersei has done one good thing. She has set old Mad King Aerys' pyromancers to work making wildfire."

"Wildfire?" Jaime asked in surprise. "Does it still exist?"

"I assure you it does," Tyrion told him.

"Pig shit, I say it is" Bronn spat. "If it does work, it will kill just as many of our men as Stannis'."

"True enough," Tyrion agreed. "It is not something to treat lightly. One dropped pot full could set fire to an entire city block in seconds. We have begun training the men in its use, just with practice pots filled with paint."

"Father won't allow it in the army," Jaime told him. "Too many chances of something going amiss."

"Like I said," Bronn told them. Jaime didn't like his brash manner but said nothing.

"Yes," Tyrion said impatiently. "Right now we will use it to defend the city from a landing by sea. Perhaps we might also set the Blackwater on fire if Stannis tries to cross."

"You had better tell Father, and soon, about these plans," Jaime advised. "You know how he hates surprises."

"Indeed," Tyrion replied. Then he looked at Jaime in a curious manner. "Are you coming to the city tonight?"

Jaime smiled and he knew what Tyrion was thinking. "I believe I shall. My best armor and swords are still here. I should hate to go into battle with these castoffs I found in Harrenhal."

"Then come," Tyrion said. "Before Father calls on you to dig a latrine pit or some other foolish thing."

Tyrion mounted his horse and Bronn did the same. Jaime yelled for a page to bring him a horse, any damn horse as long as it was saddled. His own warhorse had also been lost in the Whispering Wood and was most likely a resting place to some northerner soldier's fat arse by now.

Soon all three were heading into the city, entering by the King's Gate. There on the battlements in the light of lanterns hung on the walls Jaime saw the body of the commander who had failed to rescue Baelish from the Tyrell camp.

"Our sister does like to make a point," Tyrion said as he saw Jaime looking up at the dead man.

But Jaime wasn't thinking of the dead man, only the sister. "Where is she?"

"In her quarters, I should imagine," Tyrion told him. "The same place as before. As of yet Joffrey has not asserted his royal prerogative to kick his mother out of the royal apartments."

Jaime wrinkled his nose as they passed under the gates. He always hated the smell of the city. Bad smalls he had gotten used to the last month, being a prisoner and all, but the stench of tens of thousands of people all crammed together inside the walls was truly vile. They entered the city and picked up an escort of twenty gold cloaks on foot.

"A precaution," Tyrion told him. "The people are hungry and restless."

"How bad is the food situation?" Jaime asked. Tyrion had mentioned this at the meeting but their father had brushed it aside, saying that things would not get better until the war was won and they had no food to spare for the city.

"They haven't started eating each other…yet," said Bronn.

"Some food still comes in from Rosby," Tyrion added. "Mostly for the garrison and Red Keep. Fish is plentiful in the river and bay, but grain is slowly being used up and fresh vegetables and fruit have all but disappeared. Our stores for winter won't last if this goes on much longer."

They made their way along River Row, the street that ran along the wall closest to the Blackwater, then passed through the large square by the Mud Gate and continued up Aegon's Hill to the Red Keep. The streets were busy and many people were about but no one bothered them. In the dimly lit streets Jaime could see sullen stares and desperate eyes that looked at them in envy and hatred. You would think the arrival of the army would bring some joy to them, Jaime thought, but it appeared not.

After saying goodnight to his brother and his pet sellsword, Jaime found his way to Cersei's apartments. Strangely, there were no guards there, but he brushed that aside for the moment in his excitement to see her. As he was about to open the door he realized he hadn't bathed since Harrenhal and the dust and smell of the road was thick on him. Then he suddenly didn't care and put his hand on the door handle and pushed. It was locked.

"Who is it?" demanded a male voice. Was that…Lancel?

"Your cousin, and you had best open this door before I break it down," Jaime shouted to him. Jaime suddenly had a rash thought enter his head. No, that couldn't be. But why else would he be here?

There was a sudden fumbling at the door lock and then Lancel opened it wide. Well, he was dressed at least. "Ser Jaime," he said in surprise. "How good to see you safe and sound."

"Safe, but not quite sound, not yet at least," Jaime said as he stepped past him. And there she was, reclining on a divan, her legs pulled up under her and her skirts wrapped around them, a golden goblet in her hand, looking as ravishing as ever. Her eyes were on fire as she looked at him and she sat up, and then Jaime quickly turned to Lancel. "I need have words with my sister, dear cousin. Alone."

"Of…of course," said Lancel. He bowed towards Cersei. "Your Grace." And then he left, closing the door, which Jaime locked right away.

She was on her feet in an instant and then in his arms kissing him and hugging him. "Oh Jaime, thank the gods you are back," she said, tears in her eyes. "Come, get out of this armor."

In minutes he was naked and so was she and they lay in the bed where he had fucked her so many times before while her husband was still alive. Once more they let their forbidden passion consume them and this time it felt so much sweeter since it been so long since he had made love to her. As they lay shuddering in each others arms afterward, she unburdened herself of all her cares. For a long time she spoke on all that had happened since he had left, on Robert's death and Joffrey's shaky reign and Ned Stark's treachery and all that had come from the war.

He asked only a few questions and made a few comments. Not once did she ask anything about what had happened to him. Finally, she seemed to be finished. Jaime sat up in the bed, stood, found the wine and brought them two cups. After he sipped, he sat next to her on the bed again. "I should have been the one to kill Robert."

"He is dead, what does it matter how he died," Cersei told him. "Oh, the boar tasted so delicious. It tasted like victory."

"We have had few of those of late," Jaime said ruefully. "Prison does not suit me, dear sister."

She reached out and touched his shoulder in a tender way. "How bad was it?"

"Bad, but it could have been worse. At least it was no sky cell. Did Tyrion tell you what happened to him in the Vale?"

She pulled away her hand quickly. "I have heard. He could have jumped for all I care."

She had never loved Tyrion. He knew why. She blamed him for their mother's death. Jaime blamed the gods and put aside his grief. Cersei had never let it go. Jaime often wondered if their forbidden love could have gone on so long if their mother was still alive. She had caught them once, just kissing, when they were more than just children anymore, and she had been aghast. Surely she would have put an end to it by now if she still lived. Jaime tried to remember what she looked like and it was hard to recall.

"Tyrion tells me you have wildfire," Jaime said, changing the subject and not wanting to argue with her over their differing views on their little brother.

"He wants total control of it all," Cersei said with an edge of anger. "It was my idea. I started the pyromancers on it."

"Let him take charge," Jaime advised. "If it works, he may well destroy Stannis' ships. He will get some small glory but father will get the most when he destroys Stannis' army. And if the wildfire fails, then all the blame will fall on Tyrion."

"Very well," she said after a moment of thought. "Will father defeat Stannis?"

"Of course," Jaime said as if it was a foregone conclusion. "Father has never been beaten in the field."

"No, he just let a fifteen year old boy outwit him and capture you," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "He had to go on bended knee to the Starks to free you and now they have my daughter!"

"Our daughter," Jaime said quietly.

She was silent for a moment. "Yes…our daughter."

"She will not leave Harrenhal, Father promised."

"Tyrion said as much," Cersei told him. "Did Father mention Stannis' accusations… about us?"

"No, it did not come up. Tyrion and I had a long chat on it, however."

"As did he and I," she said and then laughed, a short, bitter laugh. "Claims he has known for years, the clever little imp."

"A clever little man, our brother is. I do not doubt he knew. And he says Ned Stark told him you confessed to it. Whatever possessed you?"

She snorted. "Madness, anger, foolishness…it matters not. Now Ned Stark will be soon be back in his barren frozen home he loves so much and then it's the Wall for him."

"Father is not done with the Starks yet. You know how he hates letting anyone get the best of him."

"Then we should have taken his head off when we had him captive," Cersei exclaimed.

"Then I would still be in a Riverrun cell and Stannis would be pounding on your gates," Jaime reminded her. "No, what was done was done right. There is plenty of time to deal with Ned Stark in the future."

Cersei stood and wrapped herself in a long silken night gown. She stood by an open window and Jaime put down his wine cup and pulled on his breeches and walked to her. He stood behind her and wrapped his naked arms around her, cupping her breasts through the flimsy silken material of the gown.

"You talk of the future," she whispered as he nuzzled her neck. "What future is there for us? Are we going to have to hide our love forever?"

"We have this long."

"Not any more," she said ruefully. "The whole realm knows the truth and is laughing at us behind our backs. Or calling us evil and damning us to hell. Already they call Joffrey a bastard and claim he has no right to the throne."

"I will kill Stannis Baratheon and any other pretenders," Jaime told her strongly. "Joffrey will be King and then his son and any sons that follow. Our seed will rule the Seven Kingdoms from now until the end of time."

She laughed and turned to him and he could see she did not believe it. "The Targaryens thought the same thing. Look what happened to them. Will someone shove a sword in Joffrey's back someday as well?"

This they had rarely talked about. Kingslayer he was to the realm, yet she knew why he had done it. She above all knew better than to throw this in his face. "The Mad King deserved what I gave him. Joffrey will…"

But she interrupted him. "Joffrey is not…well."

That puzzled him. "You mean he is ill?"

"No," she said and stalked off to the divan and sat again and he followed her and sat opposite in a chair. "He…he enjoys being cruel."

"You mean this business with Sansa Stark? It is nothing."

"How…Tyrion," she said, getting mad. "Did he tell Father?"

"He told us both. Father seems to think Joffrey needs better parenting to curb him of such urges to have young girls beaten."

"It's not only that…he had a baby girl killed." When she said it, it was as if she still did not believe it to be true.

Now that did surprise Jaime. "Explain."

"She was one of Robert's bastards."

"Then he had good reasons. A King on his throne is vulnerable as long as there are possible pretenders. Father did the same thing with Rhaegar's children."

"But not his brother or sister."

"Viserys is dead, Father says. And his sister's husband has died and she is lost in the Dothraki Sea. We have no more worries about the Targaryens."

"Perhaps," Cersei said, but she still seemed worried.

"I am here now. All will be better."

"Will it?"

"We will defeat Stannis."

"And then?"

He hadn't thought much on what would happen then. "Then…then I resume my duties as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard."

"While I remain a widow," she said bitterly. "Sneaking around trying to find time to fuck you. Is that what the rest of my life will be about?"

"Then marry me," he said and the shocked look on her face told him the answer before she said it.

"Are you mad?"

"The Targaryens married brother and sister. Why can't we?"

"We are not Targaryens, for one. And it would kill father. And it would give proof to the realm that Joffrey is a bastard and has no claim to the throne."

"Then I will kill all who try to usurp him."

She shook her head. "You can't kill everyone. You always thought with your sword first, brother. For once think with your head. All this folly started when you pushed the Stark boy out that tower window."

"That was rash," he admitted. "Tyrion suffered a great deal because of that."

"He was stupid enough to let himself get taken by that woman," she said in disdain. "He blames Baelish."

"So does Ned Stark and Father seems convinced of it."

"It matters not now. Baelish is dead or a prisoner."

"What terms were you offering the Tyrells?"

"Joffrey's hand for Margaery Tyrell for one."

"A wise move," he said. "Shame it all went up in smoke. You know, Tyrion thinks some kind of sorcery may have been at work in the attack."

She laughed. "Yes, and I am sure he thinks grumkins and giants live beyond the Wall as well and dragons still fly somewhere. Our little brother has spent too much time with his ugly little nose in a book all his life."

Jaime wondered. "This business with Renly Baratheon's assassin. What was her name?"

"Brienne of Tarth."

"I have heard she was quite the she beast. Killed three of Renly's guards and wounded Ser Loras. She died claiming to be innocent."

"Of course she did," Cersei snorted. "Oh, come now. You aren't starting to believe in sorcery as well?"

"No," he quickly said. "But I wonder…I wonder."

"You had best wonder back in your camp," Cersei said, standing. She was right, it was time to leave. But he had to have her one more time and she did not resist at all.

Afterward he was sated, for the time being. He finished dressing and donned his armor and belted his sword. As she kissed him goodbye at the door he remembered he had wanted to ask her something, something he had forgotten about in their first rush of passion.

"What was Lancel doing here?"

She was taken aback, for just a second. "He was keeping me company. I oft get lonely. I have no friends here, Jaime. They all fear me or despise me. Or both."

He nodded and it sounded like she was truly lonely. "You should have guards on your door."

"Yes, you are right. Please take care of it." She kissed him once more and he left. At the bottom of the stairs he found the guard room and found two Lannister men sitting and eating some bread with jam. When one of them saw him, he jumped to his feet right away and the other soon followed.

"Ser Jaime," said the first, as they both dipped their heads in respect. "We have heard you have returned. It is good to have strong men in charge again, my lord."

He ignored the compliment. "Why aren't you two guarding the Queen's chambers?" he asked in a harsh tone.

"She told us to leave," said the second one in a rush.

"When?"

"About two hours ago, my lord," said the first guard.

That puzzled him. "Does she do this often?"

"A few times, my lord," said the other one.

"Get up there and don't leave until relieved," Jaime ordered and they scurried out of the room and back up the stairs. Jaime entered the guard room and found a jug of warm ale on a counter and took a long drink. It tasted like piss but it refreshed him a bit.

Cersei was sending her guards away. Lancel was visiting her. Could…no, no, he would not believe it, not without proof. And if he found that proof, then he would kill Lancel. As for his sister…he knew not what to do.

The next morning after an early breakfast Jaime and his father rode into the city surrounded by fifty guards on horseback. It was barely past sunrise and the streets were mostly empty, which is exactly why Tywin Lannister had chosen so early to arrive. Jaime had expected it, even after his father had told Tyrion they would be there before noon. Of course that did not mean their arrival went unnoticed. Lord Varys and Tyrion were inside the main gate of the Red Keep to welcome them.

"Lord Varys," Lord Tywin said as he dismounted from his horse. "I see even an early riser like myself cannot slip in unnoticed past your eyes. I suppose I should start searching for one of your spies in my camp."

"I am an early riser myself, my lord," Varys said in his oily way. "A set of eyes on the battlements told me of your coming, so fear not, I have no little birds in your army."

"So you say," Lord Tywin said curtly and then he looked at Tyrion. "Trouble sleeping?"

Tyrion did indeed look like he wished he was back in bed. He had a haggard look and his eyes were bloodshot. "You said you would be here before noon."

"This is before noon," Lord Tywin replied. "Come, I wish to see your sister before we see the King. Lord Varys, walk with me and tell me of any news."

"Yes, my lord," Varys replied.

"I should find my good armor and sword," Jaime told them. "And I need a wash."

"Fine," said Lord Tywin. "Join us in the small council chamber in an hour."

Jaime entered the rooms of the Kingsguard in a tower and found his sleeping cell. His white enamel armor was hanging on a wall nearby as was his sword covered in gold gilt. After he had a quick wash in a basin of cold water, he kicked a sleeping squire awake to help him don his armor. After that he left the tower. As he was walking down the stairs he met one of his brother Kingsguard, Ser Meryn Trant, on the second floor landing.

"Lord Commander," Ser Meryn said with a bow of his head. "It is good to have you back."

"Yes," Jaime said to him, staring at him intently. "Who guards the King?"

"Ser Boros and Ser Preston. I have been on duty all night, my lord, and am now retiring for some rest."

"Speaking of duty, Ser Meryn, I have it on good authority that the King has you beating little girls these days."

Ser Meryn's face flushed. "I was only following the King's orders."

Jaime stepped close to him and gave him a cold stare. "The King is thirteen years old. The next time he gives you an order like that you come to me or the Queen first."

"But…he has already seen a guard and a servant put to death for not obeying him," Ser Meryn protested. "And he had Ser Dontos drown in a barrel of wine for embarrassing him at his name day tournament."

Gods, what was that idiot boy up to? "Do as I command," Jaime told him bluntly. "I shall deal with the King if there are any more questionable commands from him."

"As you say, my lord."

Jaime left him and made his way to the small council room. They were all there, most looking like they had just woken up as well as Tyrion. Pycelle was still nodding off. Cersei looked like she hadn't slept and her face was curdled in a scowl that would be permanent if she held it much longer. She sipped a cup of tea and had a plate of cheese and bread and fruit before her. Tyrion was drinking wine already and also had some food before him. Janos Slynt was eating some bacon and bread. Only his father and Varys ate nothing, both having broken their fast already. A servant brought in a dish of boiled eggs and cold meat and a flagon of ale and then Cersei dismissed her. Jaime was about to stand behind his father's chair and then remembered as the new Lord Commander of the Kingsguard he was now a member of the council. He took a seat to the left of his father and next to Pycelle.

While Pycelle and Slynt greeted him and he made polite hellos, Cersei did not even look at him as she addressed their father. "This could have waited, Father," she said in an angry manner.

"No, it could not," Lord Tywin told her. "Your city may soon be under direct siege by land or sea and it is time we settled our plans. Where is my grandson?"

"I am here," said Joffrey as he strode into the room followed by Ser Boros and Ser Preston. He was dressed well and had his crown on and a sword at his belt and did not look tired at all.

They all stood and bowed to him. "Your Grace," said Lord Tywin. "It is good to see you again."

"As you grandfather,"replied Joffrey as he sat at the position of honor and everyone sat as well. "Although I expected you much sooner."

"He is here now and so is his army," said Cersei with a smile to her son. Oh, how quick she changes her demeanor, Jaime thought.

"And my uncle is here as well," Joffrey said with a look to Jaime.

"Your Grace," Jaime said to him with a bow of the head.

Joffrey stared at him. "Getting captured was foolish."

Jaime felt his anger rise as the little pup stared at him in his insolent way. Robert should have beaten you every day until that smirk was gone forever, Jaime thought. But he couldn't say that.

"Yes, Your Grace. I do apologize for falling into the Stark trap."

"That is irrelevant now," Lord Tywin said with a dismissive tone. "The Starks have left the field, peace has been made with Riverrun, and our enemy is to the south. Stannis' army has been sighted."

Of them all only Jaime was not surprised. Varys also seemed to be unmoved by this news, but whether he was surprised or not Jaime did not know since his face was very inscrutable. Patrols had come in before dawn with two prisoners, who told them Stannis was a few miles south of the Blackwater, just to the west of the Kingswood, in camp and in strong defensive positions.

"Where?" Tyrion asked immediately.

"South of the Blackwater," Lord Tywin told them. "Also, Ser Gregor's men were beaten back to the river last night and are now being ferried across."

"Were there losses?" Pycelle asked.

"He lost about half of his men," Lord Tywin reported. "Now Baratheon pickets and patrols are on the far bank, but the bulk of the army is a few miles south. I believe he wants to draw us across the river to…"

"Attack!" Joffrey said suddenly and loudly. "Cross the river and attack him at once! I command it!"

"There will be no attack," Lord Tywin said calmly. "We would be between his army and the river. He wants us to cross, to hem us in between the woods to the east and the river behind us. There is no room for maneuver. No, we will wait for him to make a move."

"Wise council," said Pycelle and Slynt agreed immediately. Joffrey seemed about to retort but kept silent, a sullen look on his face.

Tyrion, however, had a different view. "How long can we wait?" he asked. "Stannis has all the food and fodder of the Storm Lands and the Reach behind him. We have nothing but Rosby and the burnt out Riverlands."

"The army is sufficiently supplied for a few weeks at least," Lord Tywin told them. "And the Goldenroad is open and more men and supplies will reach us from the west. Lord Varys, give them the report."

Varys nodded slightly and spoke. "A large host of Lannister men and supplies left Casterly Rock many days ago and is now on the Goldenroad heading east. They should arrive in a week."

"Excellent," said Joffrey in enthusiasm. "Then we attack."

Lord Tywin looked at the King. "If the chance presents itself, Your Grace, I will attack. But not before. What worries me most is our lack of defenses on the seaward side. If Lord Varys' reports are true then Stannis' fleet will outnumber us three to one. If Stannis coordinates his attacks, he could hit us from two sides at once."

"We have the wildfire for that," Tyrion said.

"Yes, wildfire," said Lord Tywin. Had Tyrion told him already? Jaime wondered. Perhaps so. "Wildfire is a dangerous substance, for attacker and defender," Lord Tywin continued. "We will use it only on the seaward side. I don't want it near my army or my camp or the Kingswood."

"It shall be done," Tyrion replied.

"Now for order of command," Lord Tywin said next. "Tyrion will remain acting Hand of the King while I am in the field. Lord Slynt will remain in charge of the city defenses but will follow all orders from either myself or the Hand. Ser Jaime will remain with the army and will take up his duties as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard when the war is won. With Baelish lost we need a new master of coin." He looked to Cersei as he said this.

"I have a list of possible candidates, all men of money who have experience with finance," she told them.

"Good, see that is done swiftly," said Lord Tywin. "Then that is all. Unless there is something I have overlooked."

Joffrey looked a bit put out. "And what shall I do?"

"Rule, Your Grace," said Lord Tywin, as if it was so obvious. "Allow me to win this war for you and no one will ever challenge you again."

Joffrey looked like he wanted to protest again but didn't. "Very well, Lord Tywin. The command is yours. May the gods grant you victory."

"Thank you, Your Grace," Lord Tywin replied. "By your leave I will rejoin my army."

"Yes, of course," Joffrey replied. Lord Tywin stood and so did the others and all started to leave after bowing to Joffrey, who remained seated. "Ser Jaime," he said suddenly. "I would speak with you."

Jaime stopped and looked to his father. "Join us when you are free," Lord Tywin said and then he left. Tyrion hesitated a moment, gave a short worried look to Jaime and then left as well.

Cersei looked at her son. "Perhaps I should stay as well."

"No, mother, I think not," Joffrey replied, an edge of anger in his tone. What was this now? Perhaps he was going to ask me about his parentage. What else did they have to talk about, this boy who was his son, a son he neither knew nor cared very much for.

"Very well," Cersei said and with a worried look to Jaime she departed and then Joffrey told his two Kingsguards to wait outside.

As soon as they were gone the King looked at Jaime steadily and then asked what Jaime guessed he would ask. "Are you my father?"

"Robert Baratheon was your father," Jaime said right away.

"My uncle Stannis says not," Joffrey replied. "He says you are."

"A lie told to strengthen his claim to the throne."

"Ned Stark believed it to be true," Joffrey retorted. "They found this bastard my grandfather let go with the Starks. I ordered him killed and they let him go! A blacksmith's boy, who looked just like my father. I asked Varys about it and his says they believed it was true because all the men in the Baratheon family for hundreds of years had black hair and blue eyes. Until me, and Tommen, that is. And Myrcella."

"And all Lannisters have always been blond haired and green eyed, Your Grace," Jaime replied calmly. "Your mother is a Lannister and you all follow her, not your father. It has been known to happen."

"Maybe," Joffrey said. Then his eyes narrowed. "I heard you visited mother last night."

"She is my sister after all," he replied. "We have not seen each other in a few months." Now who told him that? Lancel or one of the guards? Perhaps Varys, or one of his spies at least.

"Very well," Joffrey said in a bored tone. "You are dismissed."

Jaime bowed once and then turned and left, seething inside. He obeyed King's in the past, he had…well, not entirely. He had killed the first king he had served and had fucked the wife of the second one. Of course, he had fucked her first, years before she was Robert Baratheon's wife. And now the new King, his son, was acting like, like, well, acting like a King should. Still, it made Jaime mad to be questioned so, especially when all the King suspected was true. And if he suspected it, then the rest of the realm no doubt believed it wholeheartedly by now.

When he returned to the camp and found his father in the pavilion with his uncle Kevan there was surprising news. "Stannis Baratheon wants a parley," his uncle Kevan told him.

"Good," Jaime said. "Then we shall kill him and be done with it." That's when Jaime noticed they were not alone. Sitting there with them was a young woman, of some beauty, with curly brown locks. Jaime looked at her curiously, trying to remember who she was, but could not place her.

"Then they will kill my brother," the young girl replied and now Jaime knew who she was.

"Lady Tyrell," he said with a slight bow. "Forgive me for not recognizing you at first. I have been gone away far too long. How did you come to be Stannis Baratheon's messenger?"

"My brother and I are his prisoners," she said, her voice catching a bit as she explained.

Jaime sat while his father began to explain further. "Lady Tyrell came to the first bridge upriver this morning at dawn and was seized by one of our patrols and brought to here immediately once they knew who she was. Stannis has Ser Loras and Littlefinger as well."

"Unharmed?" Jaime asked Margaery.

"Lord Baelish suffered a minor head wound in the attack and seems to be recovering. My brother was wounded when my husband was murdered and his leg is slow to heal."

"And how many of Stannis' men did he kill before being captured?" Jaime asked with a smirk. He and Loras Tyrell had clashed a few times in the tournaments and Jaime had usually come out the loser in those contests.

"None," she replied. "He was taken in his bed."

"A story for the ages," Jaime quipped and his father gave him a sharp look.

"Put aside your petty rivalries with the Tyrell boy for a moment, if you will."

"Of course, Father. What is our plan of action?"

"I will treat with Stannis," Kevan said at once.

"He will take that as an insult," said Lord Tywin. "It must be me or he will not come."

"Beware my lords," Margaery said in all earnestness. "There is something foul in the way our camp was attacked. I was with Lord Baelish when it happened. A grey mist rolled in on us and then was set aflame. The shock and fear it produced scattered my father's army and took away many men's bravery."

"We have heard a similar story," Lord Tywin said in a serious tone. "What do you know of how your husband died?"

"They say it was the woman Brienne," Margaery told them. "But Loras claims she swore she saw a shadow in the tent and that Renly's throat was cut open through his steel armor like it was nothing at all."

"A shadow? But it can't be true," Kevan said with a shake of his head.

"I did not believe it either," Margaery replied quietly. "Yet now I am beginning to believe after the attack on our army."

"We have heard a red priestess of the Lord of Light rides with Stannis," Lord Tywin asked. "What news of her?"

"She is there, though I have not spoken to her. Stannis hardly moves without her beside him. I should expect she will be at any parley."

"Then we shall kill them both," said Jaime at once.

"I fear she may already know your plans," Margaery told them. "The men in his army whisper strange stories, that she sees things in her fires, things that later come true."

Jaime snorted. "If she sees me shoving three feet of steel in Stannis' chest, she had best advise him not to come to any parleys."

"I would think Stannis would not be taken by surprise at any parley," Lord Tywin said. Then he seemed to decide. "We shall go, to see what he has to say. Where?" The last was for Margaery.

"The same bridge I crossed. Noon if its possible."

"Fine," Lord Tywin said. "I take it you must return with our answer."

"Yes," she replied.

"We will see him there at noon," Lord Tywin said. "Jaime, see that she has some refreshments and then take an escort with her to the bridge. Check out the terrain and make sure there are no traps being planned. I will follow shortly."

"Come my lady," Jaime said as they both rose from the table and then walked outside. Jaime took her to a bench and told a squire to bring food and drink. As they waited Jaime asked her about her father's army.

"Some got away," she told him. "My father and Lord Tarly included. I don't know how many. Stannis forced me to write a letter to Highgarden to say Loras and I are hostages to their continued neutrality."

"I am sorry for your circumstances, my lady," Jaime told her with some sympathy. "I too had recent experience of such imprisonment. It is no joy."

"No, indeed not," she answered.

"What is Lord Baelish been telling Stannis?"

"I know not," she answered. "But Loras asked Lord Baelish if he was Stannis' man now and Baelish did not deny it. This morning when I left camp he seemed quite vexed that Stannis entrusted me with this mission. He wanted to come himself."

Jaime snorted. "Stannis was smart. He knew Baelish would never return if he sent him. But you would. Your brother is still his hostage, so you would return. If Baelish is helping Stannis then he better pray that Stannis wins because we will make him short a head if we do."

After that, food and drink came and they both ate quickly and were soon on horse, with a strong escort of cavalry heading up river. It took more than thirty minutes of hard riding to reach the first bridge. Already Lannister men were there, with a strong obstacle of fallen trees and sharpened stakes on the north bank of the river. Here along both sides the banks were relatively clear of trees and underbrush and hiding an ambush force would be difficult.

The bridge was an old one, made of wood, wide enough for two wagons to pass. As Jaime peer to the south he saw in the distance near a small stand of trees some men encamped by the roadside leading to the bridge. They had a yellow banner with a fiery red heart in its midst. One of the officers in charge of the bridge detail handed Jaime a Myrish spy glass and Jaime took it and soon counted over a hundred men there and just as many horses. Then he saw him, Stannis Baratheon, and with him was a woman dressed in red.

"Stannis is there," Jaime said to the officer in charge.

"Yes, my lord," the officer replied. "He came about thirty minutes ago."

Jaime looked around him at the force he had. He had brought about fifty cavalry and there were also at least two or three hundred men on foot. A swift charge across the bridge and it could all be over in minutes. But then he looked to the trees again by Stannis' camp and behind the small camp were some hills and anything could be over them. No, I was caught once before for being so rash, Jaime thought. I will not be caught again. Knowing Stannis he would kill me rather than trade me to my father.

As Jaime brooded on this he looked at the bridge. "Have you prepared the bridge for destruction?"

"I have received no such orders, my lord."

"You have now. After we are done with the parley, get some pitch and soak the bridge supports and prepare fire arrows. If Stannis tries to cross in force you set the damn thing on fire."

"Yes, my lord. I will see to the preparations." Then the man left them.

"I should go to Stannis," Margaery said.

"Very well," Jaime replied.

She hesitated. "Lord Baelish had brought an offer of marriage for me to the King."

"I have heard."

"If your army prevails and I survive, I should very much like to marry the King."

Jaime smiled. "I shall bring it up with the Queen and King at the first opportunity."

"Thank you, Ser Jaime," she said with a slight smile. "I must be off."

"Take care, Lady Tyrell," he said.

"And you too, ser," she replied and then Jaime ordered the barriers removed and she soon crossed the bridge and rode down to Stannis' small camp. Several men on horse back came out to meet her and took her there. Twenty minutes later Jaime's father and a further hundred cavalry arrived. Away from the bridge Jaime could also see a long line of archers and crossbow men marching swiftly and filtering into some small stands of woods, keeping well away from the river.

"Expecting trouble?" he asked his father as he rode up beside Jaime by the north end of the bridge. Jaime truly hoped so for he relished a fight after so much inaction for so long.

"I always expect trouble," his father replied. "You should take a lesson from me."

There it was, a rebuke he had been expecting since his release. His father had not said much on that after they had left the Red Fork, but Jaime knew he was angry that Jaime had been captured.

"What is the situation?" his father asked right away.

"The Tyrell girl has returned," Jaime told him. "Stannis and his red woman are there."

He handed his father the spy glass and Lord Tywin looked for a long time. "He could have men in those trees and just over that hill."

"Yes," Jaime said. "I was thinking of a quick rush on him but let reason prevail this time."

"Wise of you," his father said and Jaime knew not if it was a compliment or another stab at his earlier failure. Lord Tywin looked up at the sky. "Almost midday."

Then Jaime spotted movement in the far camp. "Here they come."

Three people moved out from the camp. Stannis Baratheon was clear to see as was the red woman and behind them was a large man in armor with Stannis' banner.

"When we meet them let me do the talking," Jaime's father told him. "Under no circumstances will you allow Stannis is to provoke you into drawing your steel."

"Yes, Father," Jaime said and for some reason he felt like a child again. Maybe Cersei was right. Maybe he was too rash at times.

Lord Tywin turned to his officers and told them to see the men were well back from the bridge, but prepared to come to their aid in a moment's notice. Then he and Jaime and a knight carrying their banner rode their horses out beyond the barriers and to the north end of the bridge. In a few minutes Stannis and the others arrived at the south end. Slowly the two parties rode to the middle of the bridge.

"Lord Tywin," Stannis said curtly.

"Lord Stannis," Jaime's father replied.

"Stannis Baratheon is a King," the red woman said. "He should be addressed as Your Grace." Jaime looked at her closely. She was pale and had red hair and was beautiful in some strange way.

"He is no King in my eyes," said Lord Tywin.

"Neither is your grandson," Stannis shot back.

Lord Tywin ignored the jib and looked to the red woman. "And who might you be?"

"This is Lady Melisandre of Asshai," Stannis told them. "A priestess of R'hllor in service to my lady wife."

"I have heard she is more in service to you, Lord Stannis," Lord Tywin replied.

"I serve R'hllor, the Lord of Light," said the woman. "King Stannis is his instrument in this world."

"I came here to parley, not speak on religion," said Lord Tywin impatiently. "Lord Stannis, you wanted this parley. I will hear what you have to say."

"I will give you one chance to make peace with me, Lord Tywin," Stannis began. "Leave the field, return to Casterly Rock, and all shall be pardoned. You will retain your position as Warden of the West and Lord of Casterly Rock."

Lord Tywin snorted. "I think you over estimate your forces and your chances. Besides, you are a traitor and rebel and should be the one begging for a pardon."

"The boy who sits on the Iron Throne is no king," Stannis retorted. "My brother had no true born sons, only bastards. Look to your family's own sins, Lord Tywin. Ask your own son here who is the true father of Joffrey and the others."

Jaime felt his anger rise and could not help but speak. "Falsehoods to better your claim to the throne."

"Falsehoods?" Stannis said with a snort. "Jon Arryn believed it and now he is dead. Ned Stark believed it and he has been branded a traitor and forced to take the black. The Iron Throne is mine by right of inheritance. No bastards may inherit."

"I see we have wasted our time," said Lord Tywin to Stannis and Jaime could sense the anger in him. "You came here to make accusations, not listen to reason."

"Then what would you have us do?" Stannis asked.

"Retire from the field," Lord Tywin said. "Return to Dragonstone."

"To await your judgment?" Stannis asked with bitterness in his voice. "I know how you Lannisters treat your enemies. I have come too far and it is too late for me to stop now or it would have all been for nothing. No, Lord Tywin, I shall not retire. And apparently neither shall you."

"So be it," Lord Tywin replied. "We will meet on the field of battle."

"No," said the red woman suddenly. "I have seen it in my flames, Lord Tywin. You shall not meet King Stannis in battle." She looked past him at Jaime. "But your sons will. And they will lose."

Jaime felt his anger bubble up and his hand went to his sword but he did not draw it. "Why don't we settle this right here?" Jaime told Stannis. "Single combat, just the two of us."

Stannis grunted. "I think we know who would win, Kingslayer. Then your infamy would be doubled. Best scurry back to your son to make sure he is safe in his castle. Soon my siege engines will pound its walls to dust."

"We are done with this folly," Lord Tywin said, his anger now obvious. Then he turned his horse about, and for one brief moment Jaime wanted to draw his sword and cut both of their heads off but the look in his father's eyes told him to not do any such thing and soon they were off the bridge and back with their own men and Stannis and his priestess were gone as well.

"A waste of time," Lord Tywin said as they rode back down the river towards the main camp.

"You should have let me kill them both," Jaime replied, his anger still burning.

"Perhaps," his father told him. "But it would not have been honorable."

Jaime laughed. "What does it matter? The realm all believes I have no honor."

"Maybe so," Lord Tywin said. "But I still have some honor."

That stung worse than anything else his father had said to him in a long time. Jaime said nothing and brooded as they rode back to camp. Finally, his father spoke again.

"What did the Tyrell girl tell you of their camp?"

"Nothing," he replied. "She only spoke on how Baelish told her Joffrey wanted to marry her and on how he has now thrown his lot in with Stannis."

"Baelish will get his reward for all his misdeeds," Lord Tywin said grimly. "I care not if he can make money appear from thin air. It is time for him to go."

"Tyrion will be pleased."

A short time later they returned to camp. The rest of the day Jaime spent in practice with some other knights, using tourney swords, working up a sweat and getting the edge back to his fighting skills. He vented his anger at Stannis and his father on these poor knights and more than few had bruises and scrapes to show for his anger at others.

As night fell he supped with his father and the other commanders in the main pavilion. All talk was about Stannis and their meeting and what moves to make the next day and where their reinforcements were now. As the supper ended and the commanders left, Jaime was left alone with his father.

"Jaime," his father said suddenly. "I want the truth about something."

"Yes?" Jaime asked and his throat felt tight. Was he going to ask what Joffrey had asked him?

"I want to know if…" But then they were interrupted as a soldier came to the pavilion.

"My lords, we spotted a boat crossing the river."

Jaime stood quickly. "Perhaps some lost fisherman. I will see to it."

"Very well," Lord Tywin said.

Jaime left and swiftly walked with the soldier to the river bank. There were several men with bows and arrows peering into the dark.

"What is it?" Jaime asked them. It was dark and the moonlight was struggling to pass though some clouds.

"There, a boat, my lord," said one sharp-eyed soldier. Jaime peered and could just make it out, almost on the far shore, rowing away from them, being dragged downriver a bit by the current.

"They are landing on the other side," Jaime said.

"But I think they started from here," said another soldier. "I heard the oars splashing and I came down and saw them in mid-river, my lord."

"Oh, its no trouble, my lord," said the sharp eyed one again as some clouds moved and more moonlight bathed the river. "Just some man and his woman. Maybe some locals."

Jaime felt a chill run up his spine. "Woman?" he asked.

"Yes, my lord. Look, they are getting out of their boat. All in red, she is."

"Kill them!" Jaime shouted as he felt a sudden sense of dread. "Kill them now!" he shouted louder and the men all raised their bows and fired across the river but the arrows fell short or wide and the two people on the far side scrambled up the bank and were soon gone. In the gloom Jaime saw her briefly, and saw that it was a woman in red and then fear clutched his heart. Fear he had rarely known, but now he knew what was happening.

"With me!" he shouted and many men followed him and soon they converged on the commander's pavilion. The two soldiers guarding it stood there as if nothing was wrong. Perhaps he had been foolish, Jaime thought. He quickly stepped inside and a scene of horror greeted his eyes.

Sitting at the table with his head tilted back and his life's blood pouring out of his slit throat was Lord Tywin Lannister, Warden of the West, Lord of Casterly Rock.

The men who had followed him recoiled in horror as Jaime rushed in and clamped his hands over his father's throat, in vain trying to stop the blood. Tears filled Jaime's eyes and his father croaked and tried to speak but could not. Then Kevan was there and the other commanders were rushing in and all was chaos. Someone was screaming for a maester as others were praying to the gods. And then Jaime heard his father say one last thing.

"A shadow," Lord Tywin Lannister whispered. And then he died.


	24. Chapter 24 Arya

**Ned Stark Lives! Chapter 24 Arya**

The wedding was done and the bedding had begun and all in the great hall of the Twins western castle cheered and yelled and shouted bawdy comments as Robb and his bride Roslin were carted off to their wedding chamber, both carried high in the air, their faces flushed with excitement, embarrassment, and possibly also expectation. Roslin was already being stripped of her wedding gown by the men and Robb's doublet was already being torn by the women. Everyone was in a joyous and festive mood. Everyone except Arya Stark that is.

She sat on a bench with the boy, the one they told her she had to marry, and was having no fun at all. His name was Elmar and she had only met him an hour before the wedding ceremony had begun. He had the Frey look and was the same height as her and was skinny and pale. She had been polite and greeted him with courtesy and he had done the same in return. But when it came time for the wedding Arya was told by her mother that she would have to enter the hall on the boy's arm and sit with him and dance with him and at that point she almost ran away. Her mother sensed this in her and after a sharp word Arya had agreed to be civil and had done her part to uphold the Stark name during the ceremony.

She was wearing the blue dress her mother had found in Riverrun for her. It was plain but it was the only clean and decent clothing she had for a wedding ceremony. Sansa and Jeyne and the Frey girls all wore very beautiful dresses and many of the men from the North and the Twins asked their hands for a dance. No one asked Arya except Elmar and she danced with him once, a northern jig she liked, where you didn't have to touch the other person at all except to slap hands together high in the air at certain points. He didn't know the dance and fumbled about and she wasn't much better and after that they both agreed dancing was not for them.

Arya scratched her leg where the dagger sheath had rubbed on her skin while she was dancing. She had two daggers, one strapped to each thigh, hidden under her dress. Before they went into the castle for the ceremony her father had taken her aside and had led her into his tent. It was empty since Arya's mother was off helping Sansa and Jeyne get ready.

"I need you to do something for me," he had said, his face with that grim look he always had when something was worrying him.

"Anything," she told him right away.

"Hide these on you," he told and he handed her the two daggers in sheaths with leather straps and buckles on them.

She took them without a word. "You understand why?" he asked.

"We can't trust the Freys," she replied right away.

"Aye," her father said. "Robb can't wear a weapon to his wedding but you and I can. Most of our men inside will also be carrying hidden daggers."

"If anyone tries anything I will kill old Walder Frey first," she told him in a matter of fact way.

Arya could see he was unhappy with this. "I'd rather if you never had to kill anyone for the rest of your life," he told her.

"I will if I have to."

"Aye, that you will. If things go bad, you are to protect your mother and Sansa and Jeyne. You let me and the men deal with the Freys. You get your mother and the other girls to safety. You understand?"

"Aye, my lord," she said in the way he and Robb and other northmen often talked. Her father chuckled and ruffled her hair.

"My little wolf," he said tenderly. "Right. Hide them well and then it's time to meet the Frey boy. Roose Bolton arrived a few hours ago."

"Seven hells," she said quietly. "Do I have to?"

"You know you do."

"I won't marry him so what does it matter."

He sighed heavily. "Arya, it matters and you know why it does. It's only for one day. Tomorrow or the next day we are going north. Then…then it will be a long time before you see him again. Maybe never."

"I hope so," she answered and then after promising to be good her father left and she strapped the two daggers to her thighs.

Now it seemed like it had been for naught. The wedding was going well. The ceremony had been done quickly, performed by a septon who was one of Walder Frey's sons or grandsons or nephews or cousins or something. The wedding cloaks had been exchanged. Roslin's was a deep blue with the twin towers of her sigil sewed in gold thread. Robb's was not as fancy, but in short notice Sansa and Jeyne and Arya's mother had done a decent job, and the direwolf in grey on a field of white silk trimmed with fur did look a bit like Grey Wind.

After the ceremony and Robb had kissed his bride for the first time, gifts were exchanged. Walder Frey's son Stevron gave Robb a sword with a jeweled hilt and Robb thanked them for this kind gift. And now Robb was armed as well and once that happened Arya saw many of the northern men relax, including her father. A goldsmith had been found and he had taken some Stark gold and melted it and fashioned a nice necklace and a ring for Roslin's wedding gift. They were not very fancy, but they all said it was beautiful and no one seemed insulted. Arya was sure her father had told Walder Frey that more wedding gifts would be given when they had a wedding party at Winterfell.

After Robb and Roslin had been carried off to the wedding bed, more food and drink was served and the band in the balcony began to play again and more people danced, including Sansa with old Stevron Frey and Jeyne with one of the Stark lords. Arya could not remember who he was. Sansa looked like she wanted to run away but was polite and danced well with the heir of the Twins. Arya could see many of the men of the castle were looking at her sister and Jeyne and she had no doubt what was on their minds.

"Why is your hair short?" Elmar suddenly asked her.

"I like it short," she told him. "I think I will keep it this way."

"You should let it grow," he replied. "A woman should have long hair."

"Maybe," she said, not wanting to argue with him. Sansa had once told her courtesy was a lady's armor. Well, Arya was no lady but she knew she should try to be polite. "What do you do for Lord Bolton?"

He made a face as if something disgusted him. "Help him with his leeches mostly. Ugh!"

"Leeches?" she asked in puzzlement as she looked across the hall where her father was sitting with Lord Bolton deep in conversation. With them were some other northern lords and the two crannogmen who had come down the river. Arya guessed they were talking of what to do at Moat Cailin. She looked at Roose Bolton and he was a scary man, no doubt about that. He was pale and thin and when Arya was introduced to him she could barely hear what he said. She had heard one of the Stark soldiers call him the "leech lord" and on his chest was a sigil of a man with his arms and legs splayed out. The 'flayed man' she knew it was called from her lessons with Maester Luwin. How could such a man be one of her father's lords?

"He puts leeches on his skin every day," Elmar was explaining. "He says they draw out the blood and take away any sickness."

"Is he sick?" Maybe that's why he was so pale.

"No, never. Maybe they do help him. But I hate it. They are so slimy and they smell like mud and are full of blood when I take them off him."

"They are just leeches," Arya said with a shrug. Gods, he was scared of leeches.

"You'd hate it too if you had to do it every day."

"Maybe," she said again. Then she remembered Roose Bolton's men had been in a battle with Tywin Lannister. "Were you in the fight with the Lannisters?"

"No," he said. "I stayed with the baggage and other servants."

"I've been in a fight," she bragged before she could stop herself. She had not meant to talk on that but now it was out.

"Where?" he asked in a suspicious manner as if he was preparing not to believe her.

"On the road from King's Landing to Harrenhal. I was hiding in a party of Night's Watch recruits with my father. Lannister men attacked us. And gold cloaks from King's Landing as well."

"Why did they attack you?"

"They were after…they wanted to take my father back to King's Landing. That's just after my brother captured the Kingslayer." She had almost told him about Gendry. No, she would never tell him anything about Gendry, that was certain. "Ask my father if you don't believe me."

"I believe you," he said, but she wasn't sure if he was lying or not. Just then her mother approached them.

"Hello," she said to Elmar, and Elmar immediately stood and bowed.

"Lady Stark," he said and then she sat with them and he sat again.

"How are you getting along?" Arya's mother asked them.

"Fine," Elmar replied. Just then there was a commotion and two Frey men started fighting and a chair was knocked over. Their family members separated them and Old Walder Frey from his high chair ordered them kicked out and then laughed and made a joke about it not being a wedding until there was a fight. Everyone laughed with him and then the music and drinking began anew. Arya's mother had looked worried for a moment and Arya's hand had gone to her dagger on her right leg but then she relaxed.

"I think they both like the same girl," Elmar explained as the two men were dragged away still shouting insults at each other.

"Yes," said Catelyn Stark with a quick look to Arya. "That happens, more often than you would think. Well, Elmar, it has been a pleasure to meet you. Perhaps some day before your wedding you can come to Winterfell."

"Is it far from the Dreadfort, my lady?" he asked.

Arya felt her stomach suddenly clench tight. "Yes," said her mother. "Everything is far apart in the North. Why do you ask?"

"Lord Bolton asked me to come with him to the North."

"No," said Arya before she could help herself and then her mother gave her a sharp look. "I mean," Arya quickly continued. "I thought you said you don't like serving him."

"I don't," Elmar answered in almost a whisper. "But I'm scared to say no to him."

"Tell your father," Catelyn Stark said right away. "He will make sure you stay here."

"He scares me, too," Elmar admitted.

"Gods, are you not scared of anyone?" Arya asked in disgust.

"Arya, be civil!" her mother snapped at her.

"Sorry," she said to Elmar.

"Not to worry," he replied. "All of my family is scared of him. Even my brother Stevron and he is really old."

"Maybe it's time you showed him you are a man, and not some boy he can order here and there," Arya said, really wanting him to stay here and not come north. "Tell him you want to stay here."

"I will," Elmar said, straightening his back and standing. "Right now."

"Good," said Arya. "Go, now, while no one is talking to him."

Elmar stood and went straight to where his father was, weaving his way around drunken guests and twirling dancers.

"Seven hells," Arya said quietly as her mother looked at her shrewdly.

"Why did you do that?" her mother asked.

You know why, she wanted to say but didn't because it sounded a bit rude and she didn't want to talk about her wish to never, ever see Elmar again. So she told a lie. Well, a bit of a lie. "The Dreadfort? He'd hate it there."

"True enough," her mother replied quietly, with a quick look to where Lord Bolton was talking to Arya's father.

Just then the dance ended and Sansa and Jeyne escaped from the dance floor and staggered to their table.

"I'm exhausted," Sansa said as she took a goblet of wine and drank deeply.

"Go easy," admonished her mother. Already Sansa and Jeyne had pink cheeks and it was not from the dancing. Then from above they heard a great cheer and many people from the bedding ceremony came down the stairs again. Many of the girls were giggling and the men were making bawdy comments.

"Poor Robb," Sansa said in a sympathetic tone. "It must be so embarrassing. All those girls seeing him naked."

"Not the best way to bed for the first time," Catelyn Stark said grimly, and then she looked at her daughters and Jeyne. "When your time comes just grit your teeth and bear it and it will be over soon."

"Yes," said Jeyne in a quiet voice. "That's what they tell you."

Catelyn Stark reached her hand out across the table and took Jeyne's hand. "You are safe now and you are going home. We will find you a nice northern boy to make you a match."

Sansa laughed and her face was now very pink and Arya could see she was drunk. "Father wanted Gendry to marry her."

Arya felt her face flush but she held her tongue and said nothing. Her mother gave her a quick glance and then looked at Sansa. "What did Gendry say?"

"No, of course," Sansa said.

Jeyne sighed. "What a pity. He's so tall and strong and handsome. But he has eyes for someone else." With the last she looked at Arya and then Sansa and Jeyne giggled again.

"That is quite enough girls," Catelyn Stark said to them sharply and then Arya could stand it no more and stood and left and before she knew it she was outside in the courtyard of the castle. There were many men and women here of the Twins who could not be seated inside and they were sitting on benches under pavilions and eating and drinking and music was playing from a small band. Arya knew that in the eastern castle and in the Stark camp similar pavilions had been set up, and many of their people were feasting as well. But she also knew that many more were not feasting and were on guard duty and were prepared for any eventuality.

As she breathed in the cool night air Arya sensed that it might rain soon. A drunk staggered out of a pavilion and almost collided into her and she stepped back quickly as he fell in the mud and she shook her head in disgust at the mud that splashed the bottom of her dress. Arya started back inside when she ran into her mother.

"You should not have left," her mother said in admonishment.

"I would have hit them if I hadn't," Arya said as they stood in a doorway of the castle near the portcullis.

Her mother shook her head. "That would not do at all." She looked around and saw another doorway and beckoned Arya to follow her. They stepped into the same empty room where she and Robb and her father had been two days ago when they had first arrived. There was a torch in a wall bracket giving off some light.

"So?" her mother said once they were inside. "What did you think of him?"

"The Frey boy?"

Her mother sighed in exasperation. "Who else would I be talking about?"

"He's…he's just a boy," she said, as if that explained it all.

"Yes…and you are still a girl."

"Not anymore. I've killed men," Arya said quietly and then her mother let out a little gasp and hugged her tight and Arya felt warm and good all over.

"I would give anything to the gods for you to have never been in a place where you had to do such a thing," her mother said as she kissed the top of her head.

"I had to do it or I wouldn't be here," Arya told her as she leaned her head on her bosom.

"I know, my baby girl, I know. The gods will forgive you for what you have done for you had to do it."

Arya stepped back and looked up at her mother. She had to say it, and say it now. "Mother, I will never marry Elmar Frey."

For a long moment her mother stared at her and then just nodded her head slightly. "Well, then. There are many years between now and your wedding day and only the gods know what will happen. You keep this between us. You never say a word to Sansa or Jeyne or anyone else."

"I think Sansa already knows."

Catelyn Stark sighed deeply. "Gendry."

"Yes."

"Arya…how can you know he is the one for you? You are too young to understand how you really feel and…"

"No, I'm not. I know."

"Arya…it can never be."

She expected that but it stung nevertheless. She knew she would have to fight for what she wanted. "Please listen to me. I like being with him, spending time with him, listening to him talk, seeing him work."

"A blacksmith's work," her mother said in disdain as if any man with such a lowly profession was not good enough for her daughter.

"The Smith is one of the Seven," Arya shot back.

"True enough," her mother replied after a moment and Arya took encouragement from that.

"Gendry doesn't treat me like a child. He respects me, and listens to what I have to say, and he understands me. And we have been through so much together."

"That you have," she said in resignation. "But Arya…he's a …"

"Don't say it!" she almost shouted. "Why does it matter so much? His father was a king! How much higher born can you get?"

"King Robert never said he was his son! Don't you understand how our laws work?"

"Yes, I understand," Arya said. "And it's stupid." Then she said what she had wanted to say but shouldn't, but in her angry state she let it all come out. "You don't like Gendry just because of Jon."

Her mother inhaled sharply. "Don't talk of him."

Arya ignored her wish. "He's my brother and I love him."

"Yes, I know," said Catelyn Stark, her voice trembling. "You all love him. And…and I admit…he is a good boy…man. But… he's another woman's son, not mine. Don't you understand what that means to me?"

Arya had not really understood until recently. She now knew that Jon was proof that her father had slept with another woman. She now understood why that made her mother mad. She would feel the same if her husband had done the same. "I do understand, Mother. But why does being what he is make Gendry bad? He can't help how he was born."

"I never said he was bad," her mother replied. "I just want you to marry a strong, true, good-hearted man who is brave and will protect you and give you healthy children and make you happy for the rest of your life."

"I don't think Elmar Frey is any of those things, and maybe never will be," Arya said. "Gendry is all of them."

And then after a long moment of silence her mother nodded and spoke a single sentence and Arya never loved her so much as in that moment. "Perhaps you are right."

Arya held her breath and waited for her to say 'but' or that he was 'not for her'. To her surprise her mother only said. "Come, it's time we got back to the wedding."

They went back and much was the same and an hour later the party was winding down. Many people, mostly Freys, were drunk and falling asleep at their tables. Old Walder Frey left after thanking everyone for coming and he received a long and hearty cheer for his hospitality and was then led by some of his strong sons and grandsons off to bed. Elmar approached her and told her his father would allow him to stay at the Twins and he and Arya both seemed relieved. Then he bid her good night, bowing and kissing her hand, leaving a bit of spittle on it which Arya quickly rubbed off in disgust once his back was turned. Jeyne and Sansa had seen it happen and laughed themselves silly. They were obviously drunk and laughing at everything they said or saw. Her father was still deep in conversation with Roose Bolton and some other northern lords at one of the tables, all of them with mugs of ale or wine.

"It is time for bed," Catelyn Stark said to the girls after a quick word with her husband and then all four of them, with six relatively sober Stark men escorting them, left the hall and made their way back to the camp on the west bank of the Green Fork.

Sansa and Jeyne fell asleep almost immediately but Arya lay awake in her blankets for a long time, thinking on her conversation with her mother. And she also thought on Gendry, and what it had been like to kiss him that one time. Arya had surprised him, she could see, and she had also surprised herself, the urge to kiss him coming on her so suddenly. She said she had wanted to do it, to see what it was like in case she died. That was true to a point, but she wanted to do it also because it was him. Any other boy and she might not have done so.

Then they had been attacked by the ironmen and he had been wounded and Arya's heart was in her throat, fearing he would die. He was so scared when the boiling wine was poured on his wound and his hand's grip on hers was like steel and she could feel the pain shooting through his body. Then her mother was stitching his wound as Arya wiped away blood and helped her and that truly amazed both Gendry and herself. Maybe her mother was actually coming to like him after all. After he was taken to the tent Arya had found his other shirt by the forge wagon. When she was cleaned up she returned to the tent but he was passed out. For a long time she lay there listening to him breathe, worried that he would still die and then finally she had fallen asleep.

As she slept next to him the direwolf dream had come again. When she awoke and he was worried about her she told a little lie. She wasn't just running and howling at the moon. When she was inside Nymeria she could see a large camp, many tents and men and horses. And in the midst of them were many banners. Stark banners. Nymeria was following them. The last few nights she tried to dream of Nymeria again but it didn't happen. Now as she listened to the soft sounds of her sister and Jeyne sleeping Arya finally drifted off, hoping to have the dream once more.

This time the dream came, sharp and clear, and she was running and she was alone, running in the woods and then running beside a river. Through Nymeria's eyes she once again saw the camp and the men and horses and banners in the moonlight. And then she saw two castles and a bridge and she knew where she was. Then men were shouting, and chasing her and Nymeria fled once more and soon outdistanced them and Arya left her direwolf once again. After that, Arya fell into a dreamless sleep.

The next morning, Arya awoke early, as the sun was coming up. She knew what she had to do today. She had to find Nymeria.

Sansa and Jeyne were sleeping still. Arya stirred and dressed in her boy's clothes, strapped Needle to her side and belted one of the daggers on her other side. Sansa heard her and moaned and rolled over.

"Gods, why don't you sleep some more?" she growled at her sister.

"Time for breakfast," Arya replied. "How's your head?"

"Awful," Sansa groaned. "I will never drink wine again as long as I live."

"Me neither," moaned Jeyne. "My head is pounding."

"Good," Arya said with some spite. "You both deserve it for what you said to me in front of mother."

Sansa suddenly sat up and groaned again. "What did we say?"

"You teased me about Gendry," Arya told her sister.

"Did we?" Jeyne said from her blankets. "Sorry."

"Yes, we are sorry," Sansa said as she collapsed into her blankets again.

"Well…fine," Arya replied. "See you later."

"Say hello to your man," Sansa said as she rolled back over under her blankets and Jeyne giggled.

Arya growled. "At least I have one." Then she reached down under her blankets and brought out the surprise for Gendry and headed out of the tent.

Outside the air was clean and crisp and smelled a bit smoky. Some people were stirring but not many. All around was the remains of the wedding party. Two large pavilions were filled with sleeping men still at the benches or passed our under the tables. If the Lannisters or ironmen attacked them now it would be a defeat for sure. Kegs of wine and ale and mugs and cups were everywhere as was the remains of food on plates. Arya found half a ham hock on a plate and then found a bun of bread that was not very stale, and a flagon of ale that was still cool from the night air. After a quick search she had a basket and some cheese and some apples and she put all of the food in the basket and headed for the forge.

He was already awake, stoking the coal in the lit forge, getting ready for the work day. As she came through the tents and towards the forge he saw her and smiled.

"Good morning," Gendry said.

"Hi," she replied shyly. Gods, what was wrong with her? She wasn't one of those shy giggling girls. She looked straight at him. "I brought breakfast."

"Good, I'm starving," he replied. "Bring it over to the wagon, please."

She set the basket on the back end of the forge wagon and then she handed him his shirt that had been ripped in the battle. "I got most of the blood out," she said. "And sewed it as best I could. I'm not very good at it so…"

"No, its fine," he said with a grin as he looked at it. "Thanks." He hung it on the wooden side of the wagon.

"How's your shoulder?" Arya asked him with concern.

"Fine," he answered automatically.

"Show me," she demanded.

He hesitated and then took off his shirt and she looked at the linen bandage on his well muscled shoulder. Her mother told her to look for any redness in the skin around the wound, especially any red streaks leaving the wound to the nearby flesh. But it looked fine to her and she told him so and he put his shirt back on.

"You should see the maester later to change the bandage and let him see it."

"I will."

Arya looked around. "Where are Tim and…what's his name, the old soldier?"

"Duncan," he answered. "They are still sleeping in the tent," Gendry told her. "Tim would sleep all day if I let him and there was too much ale and wine last night for Duncan."

"But not you?"

"I had some," he replied as he broke the bread up into large chunks. "But didn't feel like having too much fun."

"Why not?" Arya said as she cut up some ham with her dagger.

"You weren't there," he told her and she blushed, unable to help herself.

"Sorry you couldn't come inside."

"I understand. How was it?"

"Awful," she said with a shake of her head. "They made me walk in front of everyone arm in arm with the Frey boy and dance with him and sit with him and…I hated every moment."

"What's he like?"

"A scared little boy." She explained about Lord Bolton and the leeches and Gendry made a face.

"Sounds disgusting."

"They're just leeches," she said, but maybe he was right. She had never handled leeches every day before. "Then I had a long talk with my mother."

He looked at her steadily, a worried look on his face now. "About what?"

"You."

He now looked very worried. "Oh? She tell you to stay away from me?"

"No!" Arya said right away. "And I wouldn't even if she had said that. She…she seems to like you now."

"Really?" he said in surprise. "That's good. Isn't it?"

"Yes," she said and they looked at each other and smiled and Arya felt very good inside. They ate their ham and bread and drank some ale. Arya looked over at the forge. Sitting on the ground nearby were many shields and pieces of leather strapping.

"How goes the project?"

"Slow," he replied. "I need more pig iron to make the rivets. The leather straps need to be thicker as well or the rivets will burn right through them. Iron nails with fat round heads would be better but we have none. Maybe I'll just have to make some or we can buy some from the Freys. And the shields are all rounded or oval. Square shields would work better. With rounded ones the arrows would get through the gaps."

"The men under the shield shell will be wearing armor also," she told him.

"That's true. Then your brother's turtle will lumber right up to the tower doors and knock them down."

"He said he got the idea when he saw me pick up that turtle from the water."

"He told me the same," Gendry answered around a mouthful of bread and ham. He swallowed and continued speaking. "Old Duncan said he had heard of a shield shell like that before, used in some siege a long time ago. He couldn't remember where."

"It's a good idea," she said. "It'll work." It had to work or they might never take Moat Cailin back.

"When are we moving?" he asked after a drink of ale.

"Today or tomorrow, my father says," Arya told him as she sliced some cheese and handed him a piece.

"Are you staying here today?" he asked, as he popped the cheese in his mouth.

"Maybe later," she answered. "But first I need your help with something."

"What?"

"I had another direwolf dream last night," Arya told him, excitement in her voice. "Nymeria is near. I can feel it. I want to find her."

"When?"

"Now."

Gendry nodded. "Right. Let me wake up Tim and tell him where I'm going."

As he left towards the tent, Arya had to grin. He didn't argue with her, didn't say she was stupid or it was too dangerous or anything someone older might. Five minutes later a sleepy eyed Tim was crawling out of the tent.

Gendry was strapping on a sword and also put his hammer on his belt. "I'll be back soon," Gendry told him. "There's some food in the basket. Keep the forge hot and start heating that bit of iron we have left. We're going to make nails."

"I can't make nails," Tim said in a groggy voice.

"Today you'll learn, when I get back," Gendry told him and then he looked at Arya. "I'm ready. Where do we go?"

"By the river, south of the Twins. A small stand of forest is there."

They walked steadily through the sleeping camp and the sun was rising to the east and it was beautiful, the air crisp and the sky had just a few clouds. Last night Arya had thought it might rain but it looked like it would be a good day. More people were awake and moving now and some cooking fires were going.

"Why did you bring the sword?" she asked him as they passed the drawbridge to the western castle and moved further south along the river bank.

"Might be other wolves with Nymeria," he replied. "You said she had a pack."

"Yes, she does, but I haven't sensed them in some time."

Finally, they came to the edge of the Stark camp where some wooden barriers were placed and four guards stood with spears and swords and shields.

"And just where would you two be off to?" said the one in command, a sergeant by his markings. He had the two crossed long axes of Barrowton for his sigil.

"Taking a walk over to those woods there," Arya pointed.

"I think not," said the sergeant. "We heard wolves over there last night."

"Wait a minute," said another one, with the direwolf of Winterfell for his sigil. "It's Lord Stark's daughter."

The Barrowton sergeant looked at her steadily. "My lady, your father would not like you leaving camp."

"Then you had best come with us," Arya said and without another word she stepped around the barrier and Gendry followed her and then with a grunt of disgust the four soldiers followed them.

"What are we doing exactly, my lady?" asked the sergeant.

"Looking for a direwolf," Arya said matter-of-factly and then the four soldiers stopped.

"A direwolf?" said another one in surprise. "No such thing."

The sergeant gave him a sharp look. "What you think that big hairy thing that follows Lord Stark around everywhere is? A bear?"

"No...just thought it was a big dog." That brought some laughter, even from Arya and Gendry

The soldier from Winterfell spoke up. "Lady Arya here and the other Stark children all had one for a pet."

"Mine was lost," Arya told them. "Now she's nearby and I mean to find her."

Arya started walking again and Gendry kept close by her side and the four soldiers hurried to catch up.

"Direwolves are dangerous, my lady," the sergeant warned her.

"Not to me," she said. "I am a Stark of Winterfell. The direwolf is my sigil. And don't call me a lady."

The sergeant laughed and so did the other men and Arya looked at them and was about to be mad when suddenly she felt it, in her head, Nymeria was there, close and then her body shuddered and her eyes rolled back in her head and she felt herself falling. Gendry was shouting and then he caught her in his strong arms and helped lay her on the ground.

Arya was inside Nymeria now and she saw the people near the woods. Gendry was helping her on the ground and the four soldiers were standing around, looking agitated. Nymeria padded out of the forest and walked toward them. Through Nymeria's yellow eyes Arya could see one of the soldiers look at Nymeria, at her, and then his face was in shock and he shouted and he was scared and Nymeria's instinct to run and leap at him and rip out his throat fought with Arya's desire to control these instincts. Then one of the men raised his spear and he was about to throw it. Gendry jumped up and knocked the spear away. The soldier punched Gendry in the face and he took the blow and punch him right back and knocked the soldier to the ground. Then the other three were on Gendry and trying to restrain him as he wrestled with them, and inside the direwolf Arya screamed "No!" and Arya's mind fled from Nymeria and she woke up on the ground.

"Stop it!" she yelled as she got up. "You're hurting him!"

Gendry had a cut above his right eye and two were holding him as the sergeant went to hit him. The fourth one Gendry had hit was slowly rising from the ground. Arya was pulling on one of the soldiers' arms to make him let go of Gendry when Nymeria bounded through the air and hit the sergeant and knocked him down. The other two let go of Gendry and then snatched up their spears where they had dropped them and got ready to stab Nymeria when Arya screamed. "STOP!"

"Kill it!" the sergeant screamed from the ground with Nymeria on his chest growling at him. The spears seemed about to plunge but Arya dove on Nymeria and blocked them from attacking. At the same time Gendry drew his sword and stuck it under one soldier's chin.

"You make a move I'll cut your head off," he growled, his voice full of anger.

Slowly Nymeria calmed down as Arya talked to her in soothing tones. "It's all right, I'm here now, come on, get off of him." Nymeria crawled off and the sergeant leaped up, his face full of fear. Arya and Nymeria were rolling on the ground and she was laughing and Nymeria was licking her face and there were tears in Arya's eyes.

"Seven hells," said one of the men in amazement.

Gendry lowered his sword and the other men lowered their spears. The sergeant looked at Gendry in anger. "You hit one of my men! You're under arrest!"

"Like hell!" Arya said as she stood and Nymeria growled as if sensing her anger.

"You're man hit me first," Gendry retorted.

"You knocked my spear away," the soldier complained as he rubbed his jaw.

"Cause you were going to kill Nymeria!" Gendry shot back.

"It has a name?" one of the men asked in confusion.

"Of course it does," Arya told them. "She's my direwolf. Her name is Nymeria."

"Best let Lord Stark sort this out," said the sergeant.

"A good idea," Arya said with a smirk.

Ten minutes later they were all standing in front of Arya's father who had a sleepy disgruntled look on his face. Arya's mother came out of their tent and gave her a sharp look and then her eyes widened in surprise as she saw Nymeria, but she said nothing as Arya's father and the sergeant talked.

The sergeant explained what had happened and then Ned Stark looked at the men. "Very well. Get back to your posts. I'll deal with this matter."

"Aye, my lord," said the sergeant and they hurried off.

"What am I going to do with you two?" he said wearily after the men left.

"They started it," Arya said quickly. "Gendry was just protecting Nymeria and me."

"Aye," said Ned Stark. "I suppose so. Best get back to your forge, lad."

"Not yet," said Catelyn Stark as she came forward towards Gendry. "Your bleeding," she said to him.

"Just a small cut, my lady."

Then Arya saw it. His shoulder was bleeding again, a bit of blood seeping through his shirt. "Your shoulder!" she gasped.

"To the maester with you," Arya's mother ordered Gendry. "Stay with Nymeria," she told Arya. "I will take care of him."

"Those men should be punished," Arya growled after Gendry and her mother left.

"No, they shouldn't," her father told her. "They were just doing their duty, and if that hadn't been Nymeria you might have been killed. How did you know Nymeria was there?"

"I…I dreamed about her," Arya confessed.

"Aye?" he asked in puzzlement. "What kind of dream?"

"It's hard to explain." She didn't want to explain, afraid he wouldn't understand and call her stupid or foolish. But before he could ask anymore questions Sansa arrived.

"Is it…Nymeria?" came Sansa's voice as she emerged from their nearby tent. She looked pale and her eyes were weary but she was also very surprise.

"Yes," said Arya as she ruffled Nymeria's fur. Sansa came over and hugged Nymeria. Then through the camp came Grey Wind, padding swiftly to Nymeria's side and the two direwolves playfully nipped at each other and growled and Arya and her sister played with them both.

"What kind of dream I asked you?" Arya's father repeated.

Sansa and Arya exchanged worried looks. "Just a dream…I don't know," Arya said. "I thought Nymeria was there and she was."

Her father was staring at her. "Have you had these dreams before?"

"Yes," Arya and Sansa both said at the same time.

"You as well?" Ned Stark asked his oldest daughter.

"I did…when Lady was alive," Sansa replied.

Now Arya could see her father's face filled with sorrow. "I'm so sorry about what was done," he told her once again.

"I know," Sansa said. "It's not your fault."

"No, but I should have done more to stop that madness," he told them, his voice heavy with regret. "I think we need to talked to Maester Luwin about these dreams when we get to Winterfell. He might know what they mean."

"Yes," Arya and Sansa said as one again, and Arya sensed Sansa was as relieved as she was.

"Right, that's sorted," said their father. "Breakfast and then it's time to go home."

"Really?" Arya asked as she stood up, her face happy.

"Aye," her father told them. "How goes Gendry with the shell?"

"Slow," she told him. "He needs nails and thicker leather straps and square shields to make it better."

"I'll see what we can gather." Then her father smiled. "Here comes the newly married man."

Robb was striding through the camp, and many men were dipping their heads and congratulating him and he was grinning and smiling and even blushing a little. Grey Wind ran over to him and Robb rubbed his fur and laughed and then he looked up and saw Nymeria.

"Seven hells," he said in surprise as he looked at Arya. "Is it yours?"

"Aye," said Arya with a big smile. "Nymeria has come home." She quickly explained, leaving out the part about dreams. Then a sudden thought hit her. Did Robb have direwolf dreams as well? She would have to ask him when he was alone.

"And how is the new husband this morning?" Ned Stark asked his son.

Robb smiled. "Happy, Father."

"Good. We have work to do. Did you eat?"

"Yes, with my wife." He said the word as if it he hardly believed he was married. "She is preparing her baggage for the trip the north."

Arya's father got that grim look on his face. "The Neck is not a pleasant place. And we might be going into battle. She might want to wait until the road is safe."

"I said the same. But she insists on coming."

"Very well."

The rest of the morning was spent in preparing to break camp. Arya found Gendry at the maester's tent just as he was leaving. He told her it was a minor problem, a slight tear in the stitches and the maester said it would heal well. Then they went to the forge and Gendry decided that there was no time to do any work and quickly dosed the forge in cold water and let it cool off for a few hours. They loaded all of the supplies in the wagon and hitched the horses and finally when they were ready to move some soldiers came and helped them lift the now cooler forge into the wagon last.

Arya was dirty and sore when they finished but she was happy now that Nymeria was running at her side again. She went back to her tent and found her horse and loaded what few things she had in its saddle bags. Then she helped some men pull down her tent and fold it and store it in a wagon. All the time Sansa and Jeyne stood nearby, doing nothing but complaining as they loaded their horses with their things. Both were now in riding clothes, and both still looked a little ill.

"Why can't we stay here another day?" Sansa complained.

"Two days would be better," Jeyne said. "I bet a lot of the soldiers want to rest as well."

"We've already rested for three days. And have to move fast if we want to kill ironmen," Arya explained. She was trying to get her horse to stop jumping about as Nymeria was nearby, giving the horse a fright. "Look, horse, Nymeria is my friend and she is coming with us so get used to her."

"You can't talk to animals," Jeyne said with a laugh.

"Yes, I can," Arya shot back.

"Arya…" Sansa said with a warning tone. "Why don't you put Nymeria in a wagon so she won't have to run beside the horses?"

"That might work," Arya said. Then her father was coming towards them.

"Robb and I are going into the castle to collect his wife and pay our respects to Walder Frey," her father told them. "Lord Bolton has already started north with an advanced guard. Sansa and Jeyne mount up and cross with the center force with Lady Stark. Arya, go to the wagons and tell them to hurry along and that they will cross with the center force."

"Aye!" she shouted and then she mounted up and rode fast through the camp with Nymeria fast on her horse's heels. She went through the places where the supply wagons and other tradesmen's wagons were and shouted out her father's orders and already horses and oxen and donkeys were being hitched and readied and soon they started to move towards the bridge.

Arya found the forge wagon and already they were moving and Gendry was on his horse, with Tim in the back of the wagon and Duncan at the reins of the team pulling the wagon.

"Can Nymeria ride in the wagon?" Arya asked Gendry.

"She won't eat Tim, will she?"

"Of course not!"

"Fine by me," he replied. "Hey, Tim, make room for a direwolf!"

"A what?" the boy said in fear from the back of the wagon.

"Nymeria," Arya said as she looked down at her pet. "Up! Into the wagon!"

Nymeria looked at her oddly and didn't move and then, without knowing how she had done it, Arya felt her mind slip into Nymeria's. Then she was jumping up into the forge wagon and curling up by the anvil as Tim scrambled away from the big beast to the farthest corner of the wagon, his eyes wide. Then Arya's mind came back to her body and she was in her saddle swaying and would have fell if Gendry hadn't grabbed her.

"Whoa!" he said to her as he helped steady her. "What was that?"

"I…I did it…without being asleep," she said, with a touch of pride. "It happened by the river this morning as well."

"Gods," he said in an awed whisper. "What does it mean?"

"It means…it means I'm a warg." It truly did, and there was no denying it now.

"That's what the Hound called you at Harrenhal."

"Yes," Arya said and she looked at him and he was staring at her with an odd look. "Are you afraid?"

Then he smiled and Arya felt it was all right. "No," he said. "I'm never afraid around you."

Arya felt a chill run up her spine and she breathed deeply and felt as if some strong bond between them had just been forged. "I feel the same with you," she whispered and then they looked at each other and grinned once more and nothing else needed to be said.

Soon they were riding for the bridge, and a long hour later they had finally crossed to the east bank. Her father and Robb were riding along the column of men and horses and wagons and everyone was cheering them.

"TO THE NORTH!" her father shouted in his strong loud voice and hundreds of voices near him shouted back and then the shout flowed back and forth across the long line of the army.

Finally, Arya thought, they were going home.


	25. Chapter 25 Tyrion

**Ned Stark Lives! Chapter 25 Tyrion**

When Tyrion Lannister first heard the news that his father was dead he could scarce believe it and had rushed to the camp with Bronn at his side. All was in an uproar and men were on high alert expecting an attack which never came. The news that their commander was dead, murdered in his tent by an assassin, spread quickly and Tyrion felt as if a shudder had passed through the army. But his uncle Kevan and Ser Addam Marbrand and the Mountain Gregor Clegane and the other commanders had shouted orders and restored calm. Tyrion knew that the death of his father was a blow to the army, but it did not mean its destruction. Other men were in charge now, men who knew war, and knew his father's plans, especially his uncle Kevan, who had been Tywin Lannister's right hand for many years now.

Tyrion found them in the commander's pavilion, his uncle Kevan standing with a grim look on his face, Jaime sitting in a chair by his father's body, tears streaming down his face, his hands bloody, his white enamel armor spotted with blood. Tyrion took one look at his father's body and felt a wave of sadness engulf him. He knew his father did not love him, had known if for years, but nonetheless this was his father. Now both his parents were dead. Did that make him an orphan?

Tyrion walked up to his brother and put his small hand on his shoulder and Jaime looked at him and there was sadness and rage in his eyes.

"How?" Tyrion asked, one word and Jaime shook his head and had a helpless look that scared Tyrion. His brother had never been helpless in his whole life.

"A shadow," Jaime said in a bare whisper. "His last words, he said it was a shadow."

His uncle Kevan then explained, about the boat, and the woman in red, and Margaery Tyrell and the parley that afternoon, all of it, and Tyrion and Bronn listened. Men had been sent across the river at once but they found only the empty boat and no one on the far bank.

"The guards swear no one entered the tent," Kevan explained. "They felt a coldness and then a moment later Ser Jaime was rushing up here and…we found him, like this, breathing his last."

"How is it possible?" Tyrion asked and then he took a large glass flagon of wine off the table and drank straight from the neck. He passed the flagon to Bronn who drank as well. "Could there be any truth to this shadow?" Tyrion added.

"A shadow?" Bronn snorted after he drank. "Some cunt slipped in here and did the job is all."

"No," said Jaime in anger. "It's Stannis and his cunt, his red cunt. She did it and I will have both their heads. Now! Uncle Kevan, we attack! Right now!"

Jaime stood and a rage was on him and it took all of Kevan and Tyrion's power of persuasion to calm him down. Tyrion finally convinced him it was rash to attack by saying that it was exactly what Stannis Baratheon wanted and expected them to do. Finally, Jaime sank into the chair again, all the energy gone from him. Bronn handed him the wine and Jaime took it and drank deeply.

"Cersei," he said suddenly. "Someone will have to tell Cersei."

"I will," Tyrion told them. "You stay with Father."

Jaime straightened up, his mind now focused on the new task. "Yes. I will stand vigil. We must prepare him. Call the Silent Sisters," Jaime told his uncle and Kevan stepped outside of the pavilion and passed the message on.

"What do we tell the people?" Kevan asked once he returned, looking at Tyrion as Tyrion had often seen Kevan look at his father. Does he expect me to lead them? Tyrion thought. Perhaps so.

Telling the people that a shadow had killed his father would never do. "We tell them what Bronn said," Tyrion replied. "An assassin did the deed and got away. It will make us seem weak and powerless but spreading stories that sorcery killed my father will only spread fear. That we cannot have."

"No, indeed," Kevan said. "There are other matters to discuss. We will need to talk about the succession."

Tyrion knew what he meant. The succession to Casterly Rock. "That can wait until after the funeral," Tyrion said and his uncle agreed. "You will take command of the army, uncle," Tyrion added.

"For certain," Kevan said with confidence and Tyrion was glad that one man here still had his wits and courage. His brother was broken, for now, and would need to be rebuilt if he was to be of any use.

Tyrion took one last look at his father's body. A red cape was hanging off the back of a chair. Tyrion took it and then covered his father's body with it. "Farewell," Tyrion said softly, and he felt one tear roll down his left cheek which he quickly wiped away.

"Come, Bronn, we have work to do."

"Tyrion," Jaime said as they were about to leave. "Be gentle with her."

"I will," Tyrion promised.

He found Cersei in her chambers and she greeted him with a dirty look. "What do you want now?" she asked. "Come to tell me again how you want the wildfire I ordered made? Well, you can have it if that's what you want. I care not if you burn your cock off with it."

"Wildfire?" he asked in puzzlement. "No…Cersei…I have terrible news."

"Well, out with it then."

There was no way to say it but to just say it. "Father is dead."

Cersei stared at him in disbelief and a long few seconds passed. "What lies are you telling now?" she asked in a strangled voice.

"No lies," he said, stung she would even think he would be that cruel. "He is dead."

Then she did believe him and she gasped and staggered to her divan and sat. "How?" she asked, her voice breaking.

What to tell her? The truth would be best, knowing Cersei. "Jaime believes Stannis' red priestess sent a shadow to kill him. Same as Renly."

She stared at him in disbelief and a fury was in her eyes. "What mummer's farce is this now? Tell me the truth!" she screamed.

He told her what Jaime and his uncle had told him. Still, she did not believe it. "You fools. All of you!" she raged. "You let an assassin walk right into the middle of his army and kill him. Gods, what fools!" Then she suddenly looked fearful. "Joffrey! Tommen!"

"I have doubled their guards," he told her. "Three hundred gold cloaks now stand in front of and inside the Red Keep."

She nodded and then stood and went to a table and reached for a flagon of wine. "Good, good," was all she could say. Her hands trembled as she started to pour and he went to her side and reached out and took her hand to steady it. She recoiled from his touch. Then she looked at him and tears were coming now. "What are we going to do?" Her voice was on the edge of panic.

Tyrion had always felt he was the strongest of the three, the one who would keep his head when all went to hell. Jaime depended too much on his strength and steel, Cersei on her looks and charm. Both would disappear with time. But Tyrion had no strength or beauty. He depended on his wits and his brain and they would last him for many years to come, as long as he kept his head attached to his body.

"We are Lannisters," he told his sister firmly. "We will stay strong and we will fight. We will have our revenge."

She took three slow deep breaths, then placed the flagon of wine back on the table. She straightened her back and wiped her tears. "What first?" she asked.

"We must bury Father," he told her. Tyrion took the wine and poured himself a cup and drank.

"Yes," she said at once, strength coming back to her voice. "In the Sept of Baelor he should lie in state. Then he must go home, to Casterly Rock."

"Agreed," Tyrion said as he sat in a chair and she soon sat opposite him on her divan. "Jaime insists on standing vigil."

"How…how is he?" she asked, worry in her tone.

"Angry," Tyrion told her. "As can be expected. He wants to kill them all. Soon he may have a chance to do so."

"What of the army?" Cersei asked next.

"The command of the army passes to uncle Kevan. He knows all of Father's plans. For now we stay on the defensive until we know how this will all work out."

"What will we tell Joffrey?"

"I think it best if we say what you suspect. An assassin stole through the camp and killed him. It's what the people will be told as well."

"Yes," she said, seizing on it. Then she looked at him, and gave a small sigh. "We must send word to Aunt Genna."

"I will get Pycelle to send a raven."

"And tell Varys to begin an investigation into this red woman," she said, anger now in her voice. "Tell him to also find an assassin to work for us. I don't care if she did it or not. I want her head."

"The Faceless Men of Braavos might do for this work."

She snorted. "The realm owes the Iron Bank of Braavos too much money, thanks to my late husband's extravagance."

"The Faceless Men do not work for the Iron Bank. But they are expensive."

"We have all the gold of Casterly Rock to pay them. See that it is done."

"I will."

She stood and breathed deeply. "I must see Joffrey and Tommen. And send a raven to Harrenhal. I want Myrcella back here once Stannis is defeated."

"What of Father's treaty with Ned Stark?"

She snorted. "My daughter is coming home. Ned Stark will freeze in his northern hell before he ever has my daughter as hostage."

"Agreed," Tyrion said.

Cersei stared at him for a long moment. "I suppose you are really the Hand of the King now."

"Not a task I relish."

"No. But it is yours. For now. Just remember I am Queen. Do what I say and we shall have no problems."

"Of course, dear sister," he said. You bitch, he wanted to add, for bringing up this petty matter when their father was freshly dead. But he didn't say that. "And what about Joffrey?"

"What about him?"

"He is still the King and he enjoys shouting orders at people."

"We listen to him, we mollify him, and if he has a reasonable command we obey him. And we teach him how to be a King. In less than three years he will be sixteen and come into his own right. You had best walk carefully around him if you do not want him to have your execution as his first order on his name day."

"We have to make sure Stannis doesn't cut all of our heads off first," Tyrion reminded her. Then, for a moment, he thought of telling her about his escape plan, but thought it was not the right time and would seem like panic so quickly after their father's death.

They left together, her to see Joffrey, and him to see Varys. Bronn was waiting for him at the foot of the stairs leading to her chambers. Cersei took one look at him, said nothing, and then her guards followed her as she left to find the King.

"How'd she take it?" Bronn asked as he and Tyrion walked down a corridor.

"Badly, as expected. But she doesn't believe in shadows any more than you do."

"At least she hasn't lost her wits."

"There must be something to this," Tyrion said strongly. "First Renly, now Father. And that fire at the Tyrell camp. What are we dealing with here?"

"Panic and fear," said Bronn, as if it was obvious. "It will destroy your army quicker than ten million swords."

"Indeed," Tyrion replied. "Come, we must find Lord Varys and set the spider to work,"

Tyrion knew Bronn had the right of it when he said panic could easily destroy an army. But still, all this bothered him to no end. Jaime and his uncle Kevan were perhaps two of the most sober, straight forward men in the kingdom, yet they had both heard Tywin Lannister say 'a shadow' before he died. Sorcery was not something Tyrion could see and touch, and therefore it was difficult to understand, and anything that was difficult to understand vexed Tyrion Lannister to no end. Like why the dragons had all died out and the few eggs that remained had turned to stone and did not hatch. There were many theories on it and each had merits but in the end most of those scholarly men who wrote on the subject ended with phrases such 'the magic had gone from the world' or 'the power that kept the dragons alive had fled' or other such nonsense. Dragons were animals, nothing more, Tyrion believed, wonderful animals to be sure, but as animals they lived and died as other animals did. But that still did not explain why they had died out entirely.

As they walked in a corridor of the Red Keep lit by flickering torches, coming towards them was Lord Varys himself.

"By the looks of your faces I fear the news I have heard is true," said Varys solemnly as he met Tyrion and Bronn.

"It is," Tyrion replied heavily.

"You have my condolences, my lord."

"I thank you but I have need of something more substantial. Do we have any assassins in our pay?"

"For Stannis?" Varys asked right away.

"Aye," said Bronn. "And his red cunt."

"There was a Faceless Man of Braavos in our dungeons not more than a moons turn past," Varys told them.

That took Tyrion by surprise. "Really? What was his crime?"

"Failing to kill a young girl who caught him killing her father. He went north with Ned Stark's Night's Watch party. Escaped when they were attacked at the holdfast. Comely fellow, with red and white hair."

"I think I know who he means," Bronn said. "The third prisoner in the cage."

"Jaqen H'ghar, Ned Stark said was his name," Tyrion remembered. "He was helping Arya and Ned Stark and then he just disappeared. And now you say he is a Faceless Man. I would give him a thousand pardons if he did this deed for us."

"Alas, he is in the wind," Varys told him. "And getting a fresh one from Braavos will take time and much money."

"Money we have, time we don't," Tyrion replied. Then he looked at Bronn. "Can you convince Stannis you turned your cloak?"

"I like the color of my cloak as it is, thank you very fucking much lord fucking Imp," Bronn spat and Tyrion grinned.

"No, I suppose that would not work."

"Indeed not," Varys told them. "Stannis despises sellswords."

"Of course he does," Tyrion said ruefully. "Well, Lord Varys, my sister demands you investigate this red priestess and also help us find a way to rid us of her."

"This may take much coin."

"As I said, coin we have. See to it." Varys bowed and scurried away.

After Tyrion and Bronn saw to the security of the Red Keep, they went to the entrance to the secret passage Varys had showed him and made their way into the city and then to the house where Shae was at. After the last few hours drama Tyrion had need of her warm arms. Bronn set himself up in the lower level in chair by a fireplace with a whetstone and his sword to keep him company while Tyrion went upstairs.

He found her reclining in a chair with a book in hand, one of many he had left behind for her to help pass the time during the days. It so happened she was reading one of those histories of dragons he had just thought on and if he hadn't been so disturbed by the evening's events he would have found pleasure in that coincidence.

She smiled and put down the book as he entered the room. "Good evening, my lord."

He stepped to the sideboard and started to pour two cups of wine. "It is decidedly not a good evening," he told her. He picked up the two cups and handed her one and her face had a look of puzzlement on it and then worry.

"Something has happened."

He raised his cup. "Let us drink to the memory of Lord Tywin Lannister, Warden of the West and Lord of Casterly Rock, father to two beautiful twins whose dreadful secret he never knew and one ugly little dwarf he could never love."

He drank deeply and drained the cup. Shae had put hers down on a table and was looking at him with worry and fear in her eyes. "Tell me."

"My father is dead," he said, and then a small gasp came out of his mouth, and a few tears fell and then she was with him, holding him tight, saying soothing words. She took him to bed and held him and for a long time, he just lay there and let her womanly warmness and softness ease his pain.

A long time later Tyrion got out of the bed and returned with their cups filled with wine and sat on the edge of the bed. As they drank he told her what had happened, telling her it all.

"Fuck," she said softly after he had finished. "This bitch, this red woman. She must die before she does it again! Anyone could be next! You could be next!"

"Not to worry, my dear," he said as he filled their cups again. "Stannis thinks so very little of me he would never waste his red woman's power on such a wretch."

"You are smarter than all of them put together!"

"That may be so, but my knowledge of this woman and her land and powers is lacking."

"I know her kind," Shae said with some anger. "In the east they are everywhere. Like the mushrooms after the rain. They scare the people into following them. They burn their fires and pray to their Lord of Light. The people say that the priests and priestesses can see the truth in their fires. But these red ones fear the night. That is why they love the fire."

"Fear the night, you say," Tyrion said thoughtfully as he drank. "There may be something to this."

She took away his cup and put it on the table. "Come, my lord, before you are too drunk to fuck me."

"I find myself strangely not in the mood."

"Then I will make you feel the mood again." She rubbed his shoulders gently and Tyrion felt a lot of the tension leave his body. "Did you love him?" she asked quietly.

Tyrion thought for a long moment before answering. "No…I think not. There was no reciprocity."

"Did you hate him?"

I should have, Tyrion thought, for what he did to my wife. But all he felt now was a hollow emptiness. "I think not also," he told her. "I think…I think I wanted his approval. I was always trying to impress him and I always failed."

"Some men are never pleased with their children, no matter what they do," Shae said as she sat next to him on the edge of the bed. "You once told me your father was a cunt."

"I did," he said, not angry she used this word, because he had said it. "And he was. But he was still my father."

"Then you find this red whore and this bastard Stannis and you cut off their fucking heads!"

He laughed at the absurdity of him trying to do such a thing and she was angry at first and when he explained why he laughed then she laughed as well. "I think I will leave the actual killing to my brother," Tyrion told her. "The planning of the kill, I think I will relish that immensely."

"Good," she told him. "Now you have some balls again, come and fuck me."

Tyrion laughed once more. "Yes, I think that would please me greatly."

A long time later as the rosy fingers of dawn were coming across the city and as Shae still slept, Tyrion dressed and came down to the first floor and found Bronn dozing in the chair by a fireplace. The sellsword was awake in an instant as Tyrion came into the room. He handed Bronn a cup of wine and then he sat opposite him.

"Sorry about asking you to turn your cloak," Tyrion said as they drank.

"Not the first one to ask me," Bronn replied.

"Oh?" Tyrion thought in puzzlement. "I know you turned it for me once, but are you referring to something in your distant sordid past or something more recent."

"More recent."

Then he had it. "Ned Stark."

"Aye. I was tempted but I'm still waiting on that lordship I was promised by you Lannisters."

"Well, I think we shall have no difficulty with that matter now. My father could be prickly about such things but I am not."

Bronn looked at him oddly. "Don't tell me you are Lord of Casterly Rock now."

"It is a difficult question to answer. Jaime is heir, but, as a sworn member of the Kingsguard he cannot marry nor inherit any titles. Cersei, as a woman, cannot inherit before any true born sons, so that leaves me. However, my father never proclaimed me his heir. Much will depend on if he left a will or not."

"By all the laws you are heir," Bronn told him.

"Yes. Funny, here is a sellsword reminding me of the law."

"A sellsword that stands to gain much if the law is followed."

Tyrion had to grin. "Help me defeat Stannis and I will make you lord of anywhere you wish, as long as we don't have to kill off anyone already in that position."

"You already owe me a lordship for Harrenhal. And I don't want no high titles or fancy posts," Bronn replied. "I just want a nice little castle, with a woman in my bed and gold in my treasure vault and food and wine on my table. Maybe a few hundred peasants to keep in line so I don't get bored when the fighting is done."

"I am sure there are more than a few places in the Riverlands that have what you are looking for. But first we must win the war. How?"

"I'm no general," Bronn reminded him.

"No, which is why I am asking you," Tyrion retorted. "You see things from the soldier's point of view."

"Good enough," Bronn said. "So, Stannis, he wants to be king, he wants Joffrey's head. Let him come and try to take it. Sit and wait and he will attack first, and you should let him. We got more than enough men to stop him now."

"You mean we should bring the army into the city?"

"Fuck no, and cut the head off the first cunt that suggests that," Bronn told him. "An army in a city is nothing more than more mouths to feed. They stay outside the city and offer battle. Men in ranks in strong defensive positions will surely stand firm if they have good leaders and a belly full of food. Stannis' lot, more than half of them was with his brother not more than week ago. Might be there is some hard feelings there. They might just run if things seem to be not so rosy."

"It would be better if they turned on him," Tyrion commented. "But that is as likely to happen as Varys growing a new cock. If Stannis attacks, he must get across the river. For that he needs his fleet."

"Aye, and the tide and the wind."

"True," Tyrion mused. "We have plenty of wildfire now. If only we could set the sea and the river afire when he approaches."

"Why not?" Bronn answered. "Fill some barges with the pots. One flaming arrow and the whole lot will go up. And any cunt that gets ashore we rain fire down on him."

"How goes the practice with the paint pots?"

He shrugged. "Not too bad. Some lads got steady enough hands. The ones that don't I sent to learn how to drop rocks over the walls. Not glamorous, but least they won't burn the place around us."

"Indeed, that wouldn't do." Then Tyrion worried on something else. "Any word from Shagga or the rest?"

"None."

"Damn."

"The Mountain's men said they refused to come with them, wanted to cause mayhem on their own. Lucky for them or they would have been beaten back to the river as well."

"Then they are still out there, in the Kingswood. How many?"

"Less than two hundred. Maybe, if they haven't lost too many."

"Not enough to matter," Tyrion replied. "Not if Stannis has tens of thousands."

"They could cause trouble," Bronn said. "If they knew what to do and when."

Tyrion grinned. "I think it is time we sent a messenger across the river. Tell him to tell Shagga and Timett and the rest that I want Stannis' army harassed and…no…I want…" And suddenly he knew exactly what he wanted. But before he could tell Bronn, they heard the sound of a horse outside in the small courtyard. Bronn drew his sword and they both went to the door. A rotund man in a cape with its hood up was getting off his horse.

"Put your sword away. It is just Varys." Tyrion said.

Varys entered and they bade him good morning. "How go things?" Tyrion asked.

"Your father is lying in the Sept of Baelor and Ser Jaime is standing vigil," Varys said first. "The news has spread rapidly through the city and will be known by all before noon I am sure. This day may see some unrest."

"Good," said Bronn. "Then there will be fewer mouths to feed by nightfall."

"That is one way to look at it," Varys said. Then he looked to Tyrion. "The King is quite upset and has called for you and Ser Kevan Lannister to report to him at once."

Tyrion sighed. "Well, I must see what nonsense my nephew wants me to do now."

The rest of the day was one long miserable course of meetings and dealing with trouble spots. First, he had Bronn send the messenger off to the Kingswood to tell Shagga and the rest to continue to harass but also to burn the Kingswood as close to Stannis' camps as possible. The smoke would vex them greatly, if the wind was blowing the right way. Then he had Varys check with the naval commanders with their small fleet in the Blackwater about the tides so they might guess when Stannis' fleet might sail. Bronn said high tide was the best time for them to land soldiers as there would be less chance of running aground far offshore and there would be less distance to run between the boats and the city walls.

Before supper time three riots had broken out, mostly about lack of food, and all were put down by the gold cloaks. As Bronn predicted there were fewer mouths to feed by sundown. A new curfew from sunset to sunrise was ordered by the King and for once Tyrion did not question his nephew's judgment. Joffrey had fear in his eyes, Tyrion saw, as he and Kevan met with him. Joffrey had placed all his hopes on his grandfather saving him and now that he was gone the King was floundering. He kept demanding they attack at once before Stannis' fleet could sail and while Tyrion saw some wisdom in this Kevan at once rejected the idea, giving the same arguments Lord Tywin had. Then they had a long council meeting with the High Septon to discuss the funeral rites. Cersei was dressed in mourning black and had a stern face through most of the discussions. At the end she and Tyrion were left alone as it neared the supper hour.

"Jaime has not come to see me," she said at once, worry on her face.

"He is standing vigil," Tyrion reminded her. "Have you not gone to Baelor to see Father lie in state?"

She gave a short shake of the head. "I will see him at the funeral. Jaime must be exhausted by now. He has not slept well since arriving. Let other men take the duty. He must rest before the funeral tomorrow."

"I will see to it at once."

As Tyrion was on his way to the Sept of Baelor to drag his brother off to get some rest, he got Bronn to join him, along with Ser Preston of the Kingsguard and twenty gold cloaks as added security. As they were leaving the Red Keep Varys joined him.

"What new news, Lord Varys?" Tyrion asked as they walked thorough the city, Bronn close beside them, and Ser Preston and the gold cloaks in step behind them.

"Nothing you do not already know my lord. I have found a few scraps of information concerning this red priestess. She came to Dragonstone over a year ago, brought there by Stannis' wife. She is a devoted follower of the Lord of Light as are many others in Stannis' camp."

"But not Stannis?"

"Oh, he believes, to a point, and will continue to believe as long as she helps him bring victory."

"What of his fleet?"

"Some ships were seen sailing north from Storm's End a few days past, but where they are now I do not know."

"At our gates before long, no doubt," Tyrion said ruefully.

Soon they arrived at the Sept of Baelor and they found Ser Jaime standing vigil over his father's body. Tyrion looked at his dead father's body, laid out by the altar, dressed in his splendid armor, his throat covered in a red silk cloth to hide the wounds that had killed him. The Silent Sisters had sewed his throat closed and then had washed and prepared the body for the funeral. Now for almost twenty-four hours he had laid here in state and many had come and seen him as Jaime stood vigil.

Jaime was in his splendid white enamel armor, which still had blood stains on the breast plate from when blood had spotted it when Jaime had vainly tried to save his father's life. He was exhausted, and his eyes were bloodshot, and Tyrion knew he had not slept in almost forty hours.

"Jaime," he said gentle. "It is time to go to bed."

Jaime suddenly snapped his eyes at his brother and then at Lord Varys and Bronn who stood behind him. "Tyrion," he said, as if not knowing who his brother was for a second, as if trying to remember his name. "Tyrion," he said again. "I had them…they were right there. In two or three seconds I could have had their heads rolling on the ground. But Father said no, it would not have been 'honorable'. Honorable?" And then he laughed and his laughter sounded out of place in this solemn sept as it echoed off the walls. "What do I know of honor? Everyone knows I have shit for honor."

"Come, Jaime," Tyrion said again, ignoring his brother's ranting. "Ser Preston is here to stand vigil. The funeral rites will be held tomorrow. You should get some rest before then."

"Ser Preston? Here?" Jaime said as he looked behind him and saw Ser Preston by the doors of the sept. "Who is guarding the King?" he shouted.

"Ser Arys and Ser Meryn, my lord," Ser Preston said immediately as he stepped forward.

"Good, good," Jaime said as his eyes suddenly closed and then he started to lose his balance. Tyrion and Bronn rushed to his side and helped him stand.

"He is dead on his feet," Varys observed.

"I can still walk," Jaime told them as he stood up straight. He looked at Ser Preston. "The duty is yours."

"Yes, my lord," the knight replied and he marched up to the body of Tywin Lannister and took his post as Jaime was led away.

"Tell me the news," Jaime asked as they reached the entrance of the sept. They stepped outside and stood near the spot where Ned Stark had confessed. Tyrion was not here for that, but had heard plenty about it.

"Cersei has been asking for you," Tyrion told his brother.

"Yes, I must go to her."

"After you have rested," Tyrion advised.

"First, the news," Jaime said as he straightened up. "What of Stannis?"

"Still scratching his arse across the river," Bronn told him.

"All is the same, Lord Commander," Varys said in his more refined way. "Stannis' army has not moved, his fleet is no where in sight. The Lannister army remains in camp in defensive positions."

"Morale is good," Tyrion said next. "Many are angry, not afraid. We have quashed any rumors of shadows in the dark. A lone assassin, unnamed and unknown of course, is taking the blame. Their blood is up, and they vow revenge on Stannis."

"Then we should attack," Jaime said with a fire in his bloodshot eyes.

"Uncle Kevan thinks not," Tyrion told him. "We await our reinforcements from the west."

"Stannis seems to be making no plans to attack us, either," Varys added. "Our scouts and spies have seen no activity in their camp other than training. Stannis has not done anything to suggest he is planning an attack."

"He's waiting for his fleet," Jaime declared.

"Our thoughts exactly," Tyrion replied.

"The highest high tide for many moons turn will be in the evening in two days time, the sailors tell me," Varys said.

"The winds, only the gods know what they will be like," Tyrion added. "But with the high tide, he can land his men close under our walls and have sufficient water to get his heavy ships upriver to ferry his men across."

"If he plans to attack in two days time his fleet must already be in or approaching Blackwater Bay."

"I'd bet a lordship on it," said Bronn.

"Then we will soon be under attack," Varys observed.

"Good," Jaime said strongly. "Then I must rest if I am to kill Stannis and his red whore."

Soon they were at the Red Keep and Tyrion and Bronn led Jaime to the tower of the Kingsguard, where Tyrion got a squire to help his brother undress, with orders not to wake him until the morning. Then Tyrion and Bronn went to where the battlements looked out over Blackwater Bay as the sun was setting behind them to the west. The wind was blowing into their faces from the sea.

"The wind is with him," Tyrion said.

"Aye," Bronn replied. "Maybe we should have stayed at Harrenhal."

Tyrion snorted. "I thought you hated the smell of that place."

"I do, but I'd rather smell shit than be dead."

"We won't die," Tyrion told him. "I have a plan of escape."

"Oh, well. That's good to know. Am I included in these plans?"

"Of course. Along with Cersei, Tommen, and the King."

"Do we have to take him?"

"Cersei wouldn't leave without him I am sure."

"Leave her behind too," Bronn suggested. "She hates you and you hate her so what's the point."

Tyrion shrugged. "None, not really. I feared my father's anger if I escaped and she didn't, but now that is not a worry anymore. But…she is still family, so she and her sons will come."

"What about Shae?"

"Her as well."

"The Queen won't like that."

"The Queen can stay behind and await Stannis' justice if she doesn't like that."

"He'll kill her and her sons if he catches them."

"I know." Joffrey, well, his head on a spike might be pleasant to look at. However, Tyrion had no dislike for Tommen and would feel quite upset if the same fate befell him.

"Where will we go if we escape?" Bronn asked him.

"Lord Varys has a ship nearby, hiding up on the north coast of Blackwater Bay."

"Varys? You trust him?"

"No. But I have few choices here. The ship will take us across the bay and then we head inland to Rosby. We still have friends there. From there, we can go where we wish."

"And once Stannis is King what chance will we have of escaping unnoticed?" Bronn observed. "Everyone knows what the King and his mother look like and you stand out like a sore thumb. Every peasant and petty lord of the land will cut our throats to gain a favor from the new King."

"Then we'll make our way to Casterly Rock," Tyrion declared. "It can withstand anything."

"If it has enough men, but most of them are here," Bronn stated strongly. "How long will it hold out with hardly any men left to defend it?"

Tyrion knew he was right. "Maybe Ned Stark will offer us bed and board in Winterfell," he quipped.

Bronn had to laugh at that and then Tyrion joined him. "Not likely, is he? Then I suppose we had best not lose the battle," Tyrion said. As he spoke he looked at the water's edge down below the city walls. "If only we could put some wildfire down there before the battle begins."

Bronn looked where he was pointing. It was a narrow beach between wall and sea, with plenty of rocks and some sand and mud. "We could bury the pots in the sand."

"They might break, and the stuff is rather delicate," Tyrion told him. "Maybe once the ships are sighted, we can bury some pots."

"Can be done," Bronn said. "We'll make a warm welcome for Stannis no matter which way he comes at us."

"Yes," Tyrion replied. "And if that doesn't work, then…well, I suppose a trip across the Narrow Sea might be in order."

"Aye? That sounds better then hiding in these parts waiting for the axe to fall," Bronn said. "Lots of work for likes of me over there. What would you do?"

"Put my mind to many endeavors, grow rich and fat and fuck whores all day."

"Now that's a plan I like," Bronn stated and they both agreed that's what they would do if all went to hell in the coming battle.

Tyrion had one last order for him before they parted. "Tomorrow night I want you to bring Shae into the Red Keep. Find her a quiet spot in my tower. Things are coming to a head and I want her close by."

The next day the funeral rites were held for Lord Tywin Lannister. All the nobility of King's Landing came out to pay their final respects. The ceremony was long and tiresome and by the end Tyrion was wishing he was dead. Cersei shed some tears for the public and Jaime stood tall and strong beside her, his armor now cleaned and polished. Joffrey was dressed splendidly and wore his crown and looked as bored as Tyrion felt. Tommen stood beside his mother, holding her hand, and giving off little sobs now and then. When it was over, Tywin Lannister's body was loaded onto a splendid wagon and driven through the city along a cordon of gold cloaks and Lannister men. The small folk were most silent as the funeral procession moved through the city and then Tywin Lannister left through the Gate of the Gods with an escort of cavalry for his final journey west to Casterly Rock.

After, Cersei, Jaime, Tyrion, and Kevan met alone in the small council chambers.

"We need talk of your father's successor," Kevan said as they settled in.

"There is no need of discussion, uncle," Cersei said at once. "Jaime is heir and will be Lord of Casterly Rock."

"I don't want it," Jaime said at once. "Tyrion, it's yours."

"Father never wanted that!" Cersei said sharply.

"Of course he didn't," Tyrion added. "Or he would have named me heir when Jaime put on his white cloak all those years ago."

Kevan looked to Cersei. "Your Grace, the law clearly states that Tyrion is heir, not Ser Jaime."

"Laws can be changed," she shot back.

"Dear sister," Tyrion said in puzzlement. "Why does it irk you so that I will become lord of our homestead?"

"Father never wanted it!" she repeated with venom. "You would only besmirch our family name with your whores and drunkenness!"

"Yes, our family name has been besmirched much of late," Tyrion retorted. "But I have had little to do with that."

"And to what would you be referring, little brother?" Jaime asked with a sudden coldness in his tone and eyes.

"Oh, nothing," Tyrion replied airily. "Yes, Cersei is quite right, I am the shame of the family. You can have the Rock, dear brother. I would not go where I am not welcome."

"That is quite enough!" Kevan said forcefully. "If your father was still alive he would be most disappointed in all three of you. We are on the verge of battle and you three are squabbling like spoilt children."

"I will not be spoken to in this way!" Cersei shouted at her uncle.

"Yes, you will, Your Grace," said Kevan calmly. "Listen to me, or I will leave for Casterly Rock this instant and you can all sort out Stannis on your own."

Cersei glowered at him but said nothing else.

"Tell, us, uncle, what would you have us do?" Jaime finally asked. "The law clearly states that Tyrion is heir. I cannot resign as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard."

"Yes, you can," Cersei said at once, seizing on this idea. "When the battle is won you will resign and become Warden of the West."

"Good," Tyrion said with some small measure of joy. "Then when it is over I should like my inheritance and will go where I please and be happy with my whores and wine far from prying eyes."

Jaime laughed, the coldness in his eyes now gone. "Oh, little brother, I think you would miss all of this. Retirement is not for you. Nor is it for me. I will never resign."

Cersei shook her head in disdain. "See uncle, what I have to deal with. What would you have us do I ask ?" She was her charming self again, now that she needed something, Tyrion observed.

"Your father has a will, locked away safe in Casterly Rock," Kevan told them. "I do not know its contents but I am sure your father provided well for all three of you. As to the succession, he always told me he wanted Jaime to succeed him."

Jaime sighed in frustration. "Aren't you all listening? I don't want it!"

"Then who is next in line after the two of us?" Tyrion asked.

"If you and Jaime both refuse, and you both have no heirs," Kevan began and that last phrase hung heavy in the air for a moment. "Then the title passes to Cersei."

For a brief moment her eyes gleamed in joy but then she remembered something. "I am Queen Regent."

"Only until Joffrey is of age," Tyrion reminded her.

"I will remain here as long as he needs me to guide him," Cersei told them.

"You have done little to guide him so far, Your Grace," Kevan told her. "If what reports I hear of the King's cruelty are true."

Her nostrils flared as she glared at him. "What do you know of it, uncle?" she spat, and Tyrion knew she was about to explode, her ability as a mother being challenge and that she would not stand. "You have been sitting by my father's side for so long you forget yourself, ser. You are not my father, and I have had quite enough of your tongue lashing. I am the Queen Regent, need I remind you, and I am in charge here!"

"I see," said Kevan calmly. He stood. "Very well, Your Grace. You wish to be in charge, then by all means take charge. I will stay at my post and will not abandon my men of the west over such pettiness. I will be with the army if you have any commands."

Then he turned and left without another word. Jaime looked at his sister. "That was well done."

"Don't," she said, her anger still on her. "All my life Father spoke to me in that tone. I will not have it from his brother as well, who is nothing more than an upjumped squire."

"Ser Kevan is not a squire, sister," Tyrion explained. "He is invaluable to us."

"Then he should know his place," she retorted. "I am the Queen, not some little girl he can scold when he wishes!"

"Let us put this aside," Jaime suggested. "And the matter of succession. For now at least."

"Yes," Tyrion agreed. "I suggest we leave all this till after the war is won. Meanwhile, Father's castellan will run affairs at Casterly Rock till one of us arrives to take over."

It was agreed to and then the meeting ended, and Tyrion rose from his chair. But his siblings did not and he soon left them alone. Cersei was one day without Father to guide her and already she was bungling things, Tyrion thought. Well, maybe continuing to bungle was a better way to put it. At least in the past she had Father to help her out of the messes she had made. Not anymore.

He collected Bronn outside the chamber doors. As he and Bronn walked through the empty throne room, they passed the Iron Throne and Tyrion stopped and looked at it.

"What folly and terror men do to sit their arses on such an uncomfortable chair," he said to Bronn.

"You can make it more comfortable," Bronn replied.

Tyrion gave a small grunt. "How?"

"Call a smith and beat or cut all those barbs off and then put a few cushions on the seat."

It was so obvious Tyrion had to laugh. "In three hundred years no one has ever suggested something so simple."

"That's cause they don't see it as a chair," Bronn countered. "They see it as symbol of the rule of the Seven Kingdoms."

"Yes," Tyrion replied. "A symbol. Stannis wants it and Joffrey wants to keep it. Renly died because he coveted it as well. Come, let us see if we can save our own arses while protecting Joffrey's right to sit his on that uncomfortable chair."

As they walked away Tyrion thought again on the fight between his uncle and Cersei. Kevan was a proud man and would not take such insults from Cersei lightly. And they needed him now more than ever. Tyrion would have to find a way to reconcile them without anyone losing too much pride.

But it would have to wait. With Bronn in tow he spent the afternoon inspecting defenses, dealing with issues of food and pay for the gold cloaks, inspecting the shoreline where Bronn wanted to bury wildfire pots, and then visiting the naval commanders and discussing what limited options they had for dealing with Stannis' much larger fleet. Finally, however, Tyrion felt they had a good plan in place, and after it was long past sunset, he sent Bronn off to take care of the errand for him. An hour later Shae arrived at his apartments in the Hand's Tower.

"How nice of you to invite me to your home," she said after Bronn had left them.

"I wanted you here, close, in case anything happened," he told her as he handed her a cup of wine.

She looked at him, her expression cautious. "You want me here…in case what happens?"

"We are at war, what do you think could happen?"

"You could lose, and the city will fall."

"Do you know what happens when a city falls?"

"Nothing good," she answered.

"No, indeed not," Tyrion said after he drank some wine. "Look, do I have to spell it out for you? I was worried for your safety."

"Why?"

"Damnit, are you going to make me say it?"

She put down her wine cup, walked up to him and put her hands on his shoulders and looked down, deep into his mismatched eyes. "Say it," she commanded.

"I care for you," Tyrion told her in a quiet voice. "Very much."

She knelt down and kissed him once, on the lips, and then pressed her forehead into his thick brow. "And I for you, my lord."

Tyrion hugged her tight and nothing felt so good and warm as long as he could remember. It was time to tell her the rest.

"Shae, I must tell you that I have an escape plan in case it all goes to shit."

"Through the tunnels?"

"Yes, out of the city and to the sea by the Rosby Road."

"Varys told you about this way out?" Her voice held a note of suspicion.

"Yes…why?"

"Never trust eunuchs," she told him. "They have no cock so they don't think like most men do."

Tyrion brooded on that. "What could he do?"

She shrugged. "I know not. I just…I don't trust him."

"I don't either."

"Good. If he fucks with us, we kill him. Make sure Bronn has his sword sharp."

"It always is."

Tyrion set his cup down on the side table and was leading her to the bed when suddenly a bell began to toll. Then another bell, and then a third, and soon bells all over the city were ringing.

Gods, it's happening, Tyrion thought with a shudder. It's happening now.

"Stannis has come," he said to Shae. "Stay here. I will return when I know more."

"Be careful my lion," she said and gave him one last kiss and he left her.

Bronn was running to him as he was coming out of his quarters. Podrick was right behind Bronn. "What's happening?"

"Don't know," Bronn replied and then they all raced to a door that led to a set of stairs to the battlements on top of the Hand's Tower. On top was a catapult and some soldiers on duty. They were all looking towards the sea, the noise of the bells still ringing loudly.

"What do you see?" Tyrion asked as he tried to stand on tiptoes to see over the battlements and finally Bronn just picked him up and placed him on his strong shoulders.

"Don't ever say I never did anything for you," Bronn told him as he grunted with the effort.

But Tyrion wasn't even paying attention to him so intent he was on looking out on the bay.

"There," said Pod, who had excellent eyes. "A ship. One ship."

Tyrion felt a sense of relief. Just one ship. It was not the invasion. Some fool had panicked and rung the bells too soon. There, out on Blackwater Bay, it was a clear night, the moonlight and starlight now clearly showing a single ship in the bay, flashing a lamp at the city. Gods. Tyrion knew what that meant.

"It's our ship with the signal," Tyrion told them, his heart sinking. "They have spotted Stannis' fleet."

The ship was rowing hard towards shore. Behind it, as yet Tyrion could not see the enemy. Then another single ship came over the horizon and it too was flashing the signal, an outlying warning ship, Tyrion knew it was. It's men too were rowing hard for the city. Then not far behind it came the first enemy ship. Then three more appeared, and then a whole row of galleys, all being rowed swiftly towards the city.

Suddenly behind them they heard a noise like a clap of thunder. "To the other side!" Tyrion shouted and Bronn and Pod and the soldiers all raced that way. Far away, out past the city walls and gates they saw a flash of fire, flashing across the land where Tyrion knew with dreaded certainty his uncle and brother's army was located.

"Gods," Bronn said, as the sky to the west lit up. "What in seven hells is that?"

"Sorcery," Tyrion said in awe. There was nothing he could do for them now. Open the city gates for survivors, if there were any. If the gods were good Jaime would fight his way through. They should have attacked first, he now knew. But it was too late.

Bronn took Tyrion off his shoulders. Tyrion looked up at him and then stuck out his hand and Bronn shook it.

"Good luck, my friend. You know what to do?" Tyrion asked as he let go of Bronn's hand.

"Aye," said Bronn with a grin, as if he was glad the battle had finally started. "Fight fire with fire."

Tyrion grinned as well, although his was a bit more forced, knowing now how bad the odds were really against them. "Then let us make sure Stannis Baratheon wished he had never been born."


	26. Chapter 26 Jaime

**Ned Stark Lives! Chapter 26 Jaime**

"Mercy!" the prisoner cried as the Mountain Ser Gregor Clegane wrapped his massive left hand over the man's throat. Soon his cries were cut off and his face began to turn blue. Then Jaime Lannister spoke.

"Enough."

The Mountain released his grip and the prisoner gasped and breathed deeply and his color soon returned.

"The next time I let him do that to your skull," Jaime told the man tied to the chair inside the large tent where he had been taken after being captured. Jaime had no sooner arrived back at the army camp outside the walls of King's Landing when a messenger reached him to say that a prisoner was taken. He was captured upriver, near the bridge where Jaime and his father had parleyed with Stannis Baratheon not three days past, before they had killed his father.

"Now tell us, where is Stannis and what is he planning to do?" Jaime asked.

"I don't know," the man pleaded again. "I'm just a soldier, ser. I don't know the plan."

"Where are you from?"

"Highgarden," the man whimpered. "I was Renly's man till he died and then I was with Lord Tyrell till the fire came and destroyed our camp and scattered our army. Then Stannis offered us our lives if we joined him."

"So like the coward you are you turned your cloak again," the Mountain growled. "Tell us what Ser Jaime asked or I will crush your skull!"

Ser Kevan had stood in the background while this went on and then he stepped forward for the first time. "He is not from Highgarden," he said. "He has the Lord of Light's sigil on his armor, the fiery heart. Only Stannis' true men carry that sigil."

The Mountain smashed the back of his massive right hand across the prisoner's mouth and several teeth went flying. "Highgarden is it? More likely Dragonstone."

The prisoner was stunned, and almost passed out but then he shook his head and he laughed as blood dribbled out of his mouth. "You cannot hurt me. Soon I will be in the Lord of Light's arms. And soon you will burn like the Tyrell men did!"

"I fear no fire," the Mountain said. "But maybe you do."

A brazier was nearby where the Mountain had shoved his dagger in the hot coals when they first began interrogating the prisoner. Now Ser Gregor took his dagger out of the coals and pointed its fiery tip at the prisoner's left eye. "The truth or your eye."

"Fire has no danger for those who truly believe in R'hllor," the man said and then without hesitation Ser Gregor shoved the dagger into his eye and the scream was long and pitiful and the man collapsed as his eye socket smoked and his eye turned to blood and jelly.

Jaime had to admire the Mountain's ruthlessness. While he could never have done such a thing, he knew his father had kept Clegane around because he was capable of such things and actually enjoyed doing them.

The Mountain threw a bucket of cold river water over the prisoner and he woke up with a start. He was very pale now, blood dripping from his mangled eye socket, his lips trembling. Ser Gregor put his dagger back in the coals to get it hot again.

"Now," Jaime told the prisoner. "Where is Stannis? Or shall I ask him to make you permanently blind. Will your Lord of Light save you then?"

The prisoner gasped, and they could see his will was broken. "Stannis…he is coming."

"When?" Kevan asked sharply.

"Tonight…soon," the prisoner told them.

"How?" Jaime asked.

"Ten thousand horse have already crossed up river," the prisoner gasped.

"How did he do that?" Jaime asked him next. "We have scouts everywhere."

"Behind the hills, and then across a shallow ford. You have no scouts, we have killed or captured them all."

"What was you mission?" Kevan asked the prisoner.

"To find out if you were still in camp."

"Why?" Jaime shouted at the man.

He laughed and it was macabre with his damaged face still dripping blood and fluid from the damaged eye socket. "So you can all burn in hell."

Jaime stepped back and looked at his uncle who nodded once and then Jaime looked at the Mountain. "Kill him."

The prisoner gasped. "No…I told you the truth! You must take me out of here. Soon fire will come!"

"It already has, for you," said Ser Gregor as he took up his hot dagger again, grabbed the man by the throat and shoved the red hot dagger straight through his good eye and into his brain.

As the man's last screams faded into a death gurgle and then silence, Jaime and his uncle stepped out of the tent. Jaime looked up into the sky and saw in the moonlight that clouds were rolling in from the west and a hint of rain was in the air.

"Could be we are in for a soaking," he told his uncle.

"Yes," Kevan agreed as he looked at the sky. "Trouble from the west. Could he be telling the truth? Or was he sent here to dupe us?"

Before Jaime could answer, Ser Addam Marbrand approached.

"My lords, none of my scouts have returned from upriver since the noon hour," he reported.

"Then it is true," Kevan said with finality.

"What do we do?" Jaime asked. He needed his uncle, now more than ever with his father dead. Jaime was brave and had led men into battle but his uncle had studied at his father's right hand for many years and knew what they should do. When he first arrived back in the camp Jaime had apologized to him for Cersei's remarks and his uncle snorted and had said he would accept an apology only when she apologized to him in person. They put that ugly business aside as they went into the tent to interrogate the prisoner. Now that they knew battle was on them, Jaime relaxed and so did his uncle.

"Recall our men from the first bridge," Ser Kevan said at once. "If the enemy is already across the river we don't want to lose those men for nothing. Then we pull back from camp. I don't believe in sorcery any more than you do. But if there is something to this, we cannot keep our men in place and allow Stannis' woman to do her damage again. Come, let us make our plans."

Ser Addam sent out a messenger to order the men by the first bridge to retreat. Then they went over to the commander's pavilion, the same place where Jaime's father had died. As the other commanders gathered and they stood around the table, Kevan laid out the plan, drawing with a piece of charcoal on a sheet of parchment.

"Stannis approaches us from the west, on this side of the river. He has mostly cavalry, while we have a strong enough infantry force to withstand such. To forestall any surprises we will abandon our camp but leave the tents and wagons as they are so he will be led into falsely attacking it. When he does so we rain arrows down on his men. We form the army up closer to the city. Two large squares of infantry with pikes and spears with archers and crossbow men in the middle of each square and cavalry on the wings and in the center between the squares. Ser Gregor will lead the left wing cavalry. Ser Addam will lead the right wing cavalry. Ser Jaime will lead the center cavalry, with my headquarters behind him near the Lion Gate." Kevan told them as he drew on the parchment. "Jaime, if you see a gap in their ranks you charge. But you hold steady until you see such a gap or I give the command."

"You would leave me out of battle, uncle?" Jaime asked, his pride hurt.

"I think no one will be left out of battle before this night is done," Ser Addam said and Jaime smiled.

"Good," Jaime replied, knowing he was right. "Then we avenge father and kill Stannis and his red whore. Tonight."

With that the meeting broke up. A messenger was sent on a fast horse to the Red Keep to tell Tyrion and the King what was happening. Quietly all around the camp men began to gather their arms and began to march off towards the city. The tents and supply wagons they left behind. As they got closer to King's Landing they began to form up in their ranks, row on row of pike and spear men in two large squares, the cavalry on the wings and in the center. The thousands of archers and crossbow men stood out in front, preparing their arrows and bolts. They would fire three volleys and then retired into the infantry squares.

As they waited, water and wine was passed through the ranks by pages and squires, who after they did this retired behind the headquarters group by the Lion Gate. Up on the walls men were looking down on them.

"What's happening?" shouted a captain of the gold cloaks from the battlements

"Stannis is coming!" shouted one man from Jaime's cavalry group. "If you don't want to be buggered with his spear you best get ready for war!" That brought a roll of laughter through the ranks and suddenly Jaime felt good. He grinned and it was time to fight or die and he was in his element.

Then in the city they heard a bell toll. Then another, and soon many more. "The fleet," Jaime thought, but there was no time to think more on it. The city and their own fleet would have to make sure no army came up behind them to bugger them as well.

Then to the west came a flash of lightning and a clap of thunder. For a moment Jaime thought the red woman was up to her tricks again but no, it was just the gods, preparing a thunderstorm for their battle. Then, suddenly, they saw a score or more of lit objects fill the air, all of them on fire, and then they slowly tumbled in the air and then dropped to the ground where the camp was located, and burst into massive sheets of flame that lit the western sky.

"Flaming oil!" shouted one of his men and Jaime had to agree. Stannis had some siege engines out there, catapults no doubt, and they had just flung fire into their camp which was now empty. If they had stayed it would have caused chaos. They could see tents on fire, draft horses and oxen screaming in pain, and supply wagons going up in flames. Then a massive shout came to their ears across the field, the thunder of ten thousand horse hoofs was heard, and Stannis' cavalry charged toward the light and into the camp.

"Arrows!" Ser Kevan shouted and the command was passed forward. The archers and crossbowmen all notched their arrows and bolts and in seconds a flight of thousands went into the air to land among the enemy. They heard screams of men and horses as they were hit and the army cheered and the men on the walls cheered. Two more flights of arrows fell among the confused enemy and then they began to realize where the danger was coming from and broke free of the flaming camp and started to form ranks on the east side. The archers and crossbow men retreated through gaps in the squares and then the infantry formed ranks again.

"Archers fire at will!' Kevan commanded and the order was passed along to the men inside the squares and then as Stannis' cavalry charged more arrows and bolts fell among them from the sky and more men and horses fell and then the cavalry was coming at a thunderous pace, the scene lit by the fires behind them. As they made the final hundred yards the skies opened and the rain fell.

Jaime knew horses could not stand a solid wall of spears and pikes and the enemy veered away from these men and broke into three groups and headed for the gaps where the cavalry was. The Mountain did not wait for them and charged with a massive bellow as he sat on his massive war horse. Ser Addam was only seconds behind him and the two forces lowered their lances and hit the wings of Stannis army with a clash of steel and horse flesh. Then lightning flashed again and thunder rolled across the battlefield and Jaime saw an enemy column heading straight for him. Without waiting for his uncle's orders he stood high in his stirrups and waved his gold gilt sword. "CHARGE!" he yelled and his men lowered their lances and began to trot and then canter and then sprang into a gallop as if they were a coiled snake, bursting from between the infantry squares and charging headlong into the middle enemy column.

In seconds lances skewered men on both sides, and soon swords were out and it was down to hacking and slashing as individual battles raged across the landscape. Steel clashed on armor, shields were splintered, and men were wounded and fell from their horses and died in the mud as they were trampled. Over his head Jaime heard the flights of arrows coming from the city walls. One hit him in the back on his armor but bounced off and he cursed their clumsy aim. Already he had killed three of Stannis' men and he kept looking for Stannis himself. In his white armor Jaime was conspicuous and more than one enemy shouted "The Kingslayer!" and converged on him. Jaime hacked and parried and thrust and killed and dozens of his own men were with him and they defeated all those who wished eternal glory if they could take his head off.

In ten minutes it was over and Stannis' men were retreating, leaving behind hundreds, maybe more than a thousand corpses and wounded men and horses on the field, with many more dead by the still burning camp. The Lannister army lost as well but not as many. Screams and whimpers filled the air as the rain slashed down hard. Stannis' cavalry stood off to the west, and then more arrows and crossbow bolts fell among them and they retreated to the west past the still burning camp. A great cheer went up from the Lannister army and the men on the walls. Then commanders were shouting to the men to reform ranks, as they feared a second charge might soon come.

Ser Kevan found Jaime wiping the blood from his sword. "I have had word from the city. Stannis' fleet is landing men by the Iron Gate on the shore below Rosby Road."

"Then Tyrion will have to take care of them," Jaime told his uncle as rain dripped off his helmet. "We cannot break ranks to deal with them."

"The messenger said ships are picking up men from the south shore of Blackwater Rush, near its mouth. Stannis' large banner was seen there, now on a ship heading to the Rosby Road shore," Kevan told him. "I fear Stannis is not in front of us. This is a diversion, but they are still too strong to ignore. He is trying to break the Iron Gate. You must take your force there to stop him from landing in strength and forming ranks!"

Jaime at once understood the danger. The Rosby Road went out the Iron Gate and was but a few score yards from the shore. The wall ran straight to the northwest here and then met the Dragon Gate and the shore was but a few hundred yards away. A strong force of infantry lined up next to the Dragon Gate could anchor on the city walls and the shore and prevent a relief force from reaching the Iron Gate. Jaime had to stop that from happening.

"With me!' he shouted to his men and he turned his horse and waved his men forward. They swiftly followed him and as the rain lashed down they galloped along the walls of the city, past the Gate of the Gods, and then took a sharp turn and in five minutes they were near the Old Gate and were approaching where the Dragon Gate was located. Jaime reigned in his horse and the hundreds of men with him did the same. There were no fires here and up ahead in the rain and darkness Jaime had trouble seeing what was happening. He did not want to fall into another trap.

Then one of his men shouted. "My lord!"

They all looked to where the man pointed and suddenly a great ball of green flame shot into the sky out at sea and they saw the outlines of a ship burning. Jaime laughed. Tyrion was in the fight. But then his laughter died as he saw in front of them many men running to form ranks by the Dragon Gate. He pulled out his sword.

"CHARGE!" he yelled.

Only a few men had lances left but they all had swords and moved to a swift gallop and fell on the men in front of them. Arrows came whizzing by but none touched Jaime and then there was a wall of shields and spears. But the ranks were not fully formed yet and his men found gaps. They hacked and slashed and Stannis' men screamed and fell and the rest were soon running. But as they ran more wild fire fell from the city walls and landed on the ground and on ships at sea and in the light Jaime saw a solid wall of men locking shields and forming ranks halfway between the Dragon Gate and Iron Gate. The survivors of his charge joined them and they stretched away for over a hundred yards and reached the shore of Blackwater Bay on Jaime's left. Jaime also heard shouting and a slow booming noise which he guessed was a ram pounding on the Iron Gate. All along the walls men were firing arrows and dropping rocks and flinging pots of wildfire down on the attackers, but they did not panic and fought back. Ships at sea were moving in close to shore and firing large bolts and arrows and stones at the city walls and men were dieing up there.

"Form ranks!" Jaime shouted once more, his body aching and tired, but the battle lust was on him and he knew they had to charge again. And charge they did but this time they were beaten back and Jaime lost many men. Arrows and bolts bounced off his armor and shield and the enemy wall of shields and spears held as their horses shied away from them. Jaime's men were forced to retreat back towards the Dragon Gate out of arrow range.

Then the Dragon Gate opened and a large force of a few hundred gold cloaks on horse came out and approached his force. They were led by a captain of the gold cloaks and with them was Bronn on horseback.

"What news?" Jaime shouted to him through the rain. Bronn wore no helmet and had on leather armor. His black hair was slick with wetness.

"They landed on the south bank of the Blackwater outside the river mouth and picked up thousands," Bronn shouted back. "They never even went up the Blackwater. Now they're moving across to this shore by the Iron Gate. We burned some of their ships and burned some who landed below the Red Keep but too many of the cunts are getting through."

"What of our fleet?"

"Moving out of the river now to take them in the flank…I hope," Bronn said grimly. "It's fucking chaos out there."

Jaime ignored that. "Where's Tyrion?"

"With the King on the battlements. He sent me to tell whoever was in command here to break that wall of men and kill those fuckers."

"That's what I'm trying to do!" Jaime shouted back. Then he grinned. "You get up above to the walls and rain wildfire on these men in front of me! Then I will charge once they begin to panic!"

"Right you are," Bronn said and then without a word he turned and rode back into the city.

Jaime waited and the rain lashed down harder. His men that had survived so far were weary and so were their horses. The gold cloaks were fresh but they were no soldiers, just glorified watchmen. But they would do nicely for arrow fodder. Jaime approached their captain. "Your men will lead the charge. We will exploit any gaps you make."

The man gulped and Jaime could see the fear in his eyes. "Yes, my lord," he managed to say. Then he looked forward and his fear changed into a grin. His face was bathed in green light and Jaime turned to see five men in the enemy ranks in front of them spinning and screaming and burning to death. More wildfire pots fell among them and more men screamed and then they started to panic and broke ranks.

"NOW!" Jaime shouted and the gold cloaks moved forward and his men were close behind. The gold cloaks were two slow and not used to moving their horses in battle and Jaime's men soon passed them and now it didn't matter. The green fire was burning men alive everywhere and the ranks broke and fled back towards the shore and the Iron Gate. As they thundered down once more Jaime cursed and reigned up his horse. Stannis had put a third line of infantry by the Iron Gate and there out at sea his ships were standing close to shore, the nearly perfect high tide helping them move in close, and from them came a rain of arrows and stones flung by catapults. The gold cloak captain took an arrow in the chest and was tumbled off his horse and then one of his men's head was crushed by a falling stone and blood splattered many near him. The rest panicked and began to retreat.

Jaime felt a sudden sharp pain in his shield arm. A large crossbow bolt had shot straight through the shield and its barbed head had cleaved through the armor on his left forearm and cut his flesh.

He threw the shield away and turned and his men were already following the gold cloaks back towards the Dragon Gate. He needed more men, and more wildfire to rain down on those by the Iron Gate. As he gathered his dwindling force together he sent off a messenger to his uncle to ask for reinforcements and to explain what was happening. Then one of Jaime's men began to bandage Jaime's injured arm with a strip cut from a cloak and others took care of some minor wounds as well.

"What do we do?" one of his men asked.

"We wait," Jaime said as he breathed deeply. "We need help." The rain had begun to ease but it was still falling in a drizzle.

Jaime looked across the field where Stannis' men were gathered and in the glow of the green fires more of Stannis' men came and then some more and Jaime knew there were too many and the ships were right up to the shore, many of them grounded for sure. Then one of the ships caught fire in a green blaze and burning men were jumping off the ship into the water. The wildfire was still falling down among the soldiers but it was not enough and there were too many of them. Jaime knew Tyrion and Bronn had placed barges of the stuff in the Blackwater to float down on Stannis' navy but now it was out of place and wasted.

All of a sudden above and to their right they heard a massive sound, a great booming noise that Jaime felt in his chest and guts seconds later. In horror he watched as a great column of green flame and smoke shot up inside the city by where he knew the wall between Aegon's Hill and the Iron Gate stood. Then more bursts of noise came and long arcs of green flame shot up into the air and started falling into the city at many points.

"Gods," Jaime said in a bare whisper. The wildfire was out of control.

As if to punctuate his statement there came screams from thousands of throats inside the city walls. Soon there was pounding from inside the Dragon Gate and then the gates opened. A great stream of people came pouring out, with nothing more than the clothes on their backs, racing away across the fields, terror at their heels.

Then in horror Jaime realized his sister and brother and two sons were still in the city where columns of smoke and flame now erupted from a dozen spots. He turned to his men.

"Rejoin the army!" he shouted to them.

"What of you, my lord?" one asked him.

"I'm going into the city," he said with that grin he always wore before battle. "I have to save the love of my life and my little brother."

Then Jaime charged forward and his horse bulled its way through the crowds. Soon he was amid the chaos of a city on fire in the midst of war.


	27. Chapter 27 Bronn

**Ned Stark Lives! Chapter 27 Bronn**

Bronn knew the moment Lord Imp and his bitch of a sister the Queen decided to use wildfire to defend the city it was just asking for trouble. Some stupid cunt would drop a pot and let a flame touch the pigshit or some other idiotic thing would happen and then all their asses would be in the fire. It happened as he predicted and now they would all be lucky to escape with their lives.

When the bells had tolled and Bronn made his farewell to Tyrion he left the Red Keep and rode hard to the Mud Gate. Everywhere there was movement in the streets, gold cloaks coming out of barracks, manning the city walls and gates, people running around, panicking, and his move to the Mud Gate was not swift. When he got there the three large trebuchets the King loved so much were already in position in the large fishmonger's square inside the walls, loaded with stones to fling at the enemy ships when they sailed up the Blackwater. Bronn raced out of the city by a postern door near the gates. He could already see the naval galleys moving out into the Blackwater, lining up, getting ready to meet the enemy navy, to draw them upriver to the trap.

Behind the galleys tied up to the docks farthest upriver were two large flat bottomed barges, old things ready for scrap, but now filled with pots of green wildfire. Two handpicked crews were on board, ready to cast off the moment Bronn gave the order. Once the enemy fleet came up the Blackwater, baited by the small naval force in mid-stream awaiting them, the royal ships would row hard to the south and north sides of the river and then the barges would sail down between them on towards the enemy, carried by the strong current. The men on board would dive over the side and swim for shore. Then Bronn and five other archers would fire flame tipped arrows into the barges and soon they would set the Blackwater on fire.

Or at least that was the plan. It all went to shit from the very start. No enemy was coming up the Blackwater. As they waited a rider came fast past the cluster of wharves and warehouses and fishmonger's shops and found Bronn.

"They're not coming upriver!" the rider shouted. "They're landing on the south shore outside the river!"

Bronn cursed and mounted his own horse and followed the man downstream. Soon Bronn could see the far bank on the south side was covered with many thousands of men, streaming out of the Kingswood where the forest grew closest to the river. Then the man he was with shouted and pointed and Bronn could see many rowed galleys making fast for the south shore outside the Blackwater Rush.

"Damn!" Bronn cursed and then he raced back upriver and gave the command to release the barges. Maybe they would get lucky and the barges would get down into the bay and among the enemy ships before they finished loading troops. The two barges cast off from the docks and started to float downriver, passing between the small royal fleet. Once they were clear the crews jumped over the sides and swam for shore on the north bank. So far so good, Bronn thought. He moved back downriver to where his archers were. He jumped off his horse and a man handed him a bow and arrow.

"Wait for it, lads," Bronn commanded as the two barges began to float past them. Down river in the moonlight Bronn cold see the ships loading up on the south shore, some already moving across the mouth of the river heading past the Red Keep high on Aegon's Hill, rowing hard to keep moving against the current of the Blackwater Rush moving out into the bay. From the walls and Red Keep stones and arrows fell on the ships, and soon some pots of wildfire were also flung from up high. Several hit the sea, burst and green liquid spilled into the sea. Flaming arrows came down on them and soon the water was on fire in many spots. The green flames soon dotted the seascape and then one pot hit a ship, burst and must have hit a torch or lantern, because a sudden burst of green flame erupted and the ship was on fire, the wildfire burning with a green, sickly color. A long ragged cheer came from the walls as the first ship caught fire. But there were many more that were not on fire.

In front of Bronn was a fire in a pit. "Now," he said to his men and they all dipped their arrows in the flames, the oil soaked linen on the ends catching fire quickly. "Fire at will!" he shouted and in seconds all six of them had their flaming arrows in the air heading for the two barges. Three arrows hit one, two arrows hit the other, and soon they both caught fire.

Then Bronn realized that the ships at sea were too far away, the barges moving too slowly on the current. His barges would explode before they got there. As he thought on this, the first barge came out of the river into the bay and then exploded in a burst of green flame and smoke, the shock of the explosion rippling across the water and hitting Bronn and his men like a strong wind, knocking a few men off their feet. In seconds the other barge exploded with equal fury.

On the south bank men were shouting and pointing and then burning pots that had been flung into the air but hadn't yet exploded began to land on the south and north banks and in the water. A few men on the south bank caught fire and jumped in the river, screaming, but there was no solaced in the river as green flames shot across it and far out into the bay.

On the north bank Bronn saw a small rowed galley trying to land men there but the wildfire he had bury in the sand under the Red Keep now caught fire as burning pots from the barges hit it. With a _whoosh _several buried pots burst and sprayed wildfire in the air and across the sand. The galley pulled away fast and the men trying to land were sent screaming into the sea, trying to dose the unreal fire that now consumed their bodies.

The result of all this was that they had killed a few of Stannis' men on the south and north banks and two ships caught fire on the south shore, where they were still trying to load troops. Soon the men abandon these ships and streamed bank on shore as the ships burned.

"What a waste," Bronn said with a shake of his head. They had hardly done any damage to Stannis Baratheon's great fleet. "Right. Lads, I expect they could use you up on the walls. Off you go." His archers went back towards the Mud Gate. As they went off lighting flashed and thunder came and the sky opened up and a hard rain began to fall. Bronn cursed to himself. The Iron Gate. The Rosby Road. The water by the shore there was shallow but with the high tide ships could get right in and drop off men. Between the city walls and the shore was a short distance by the Iron Gate and farther up by the Dragon Gate as well. They could anchor a strong force on the walls and the shore and protect the besieger at the gates. The only way to stop them was from the walls, or to get a large force there first before they landed in strength.

Bronn turned to the messenger who had found him earlier. "Get word to the Lannister camp, if there are any that still live. We are under attack. Many ships with Stannis' banners on them picking up troops on the south shore and heading across the bay. Possible landing on shore below Iron Gate and Rosby Road. They need to get some men there to stop them."

The man repeated the message and then rode off hard in the rain. Bronn got on his horse and saw out on the river the royal fleet moving downstream. The wildfire was still burning on the water and would until it was used up. Hopefully, once it was finished the ships could move out and catch Stannis' ships and bugger them somehow.

He had to find Tyrion and tell him what was happening. Maybe he already knew, seeing as he was in the Red Keep and could see the whole bay from there. Bronn rode back into the city and again had trouble moving as people were filling the streets, and many shouted at him for information but he cursed them all and rode hard for the Red Keep. Once inside he was told Lord Imp and the Boy King were up on the battlements watching the battle. A very tired Bronn found them there, on the drum tower closest to the Iron Gate and farthest from the Blackwater Rush entrance. They were with Podrick and three of the Kingsguard, along with that milksop Lancel Lannister, all of them in their best armor. As Bronn arrived, Joffrey was just firing off a catapult filled with three heavy stones.

"For you, Uncle!" he shouted over the battlements as the stones went high into the air. Tyrion spotted Bronn and came over to him right away as the catapult was reloaded.

"What's happening?" Tyrion asked right away.

"The plan is fucked."

"I know," replied Tyrion with worry. "They are landing by the Iron Gate. I have already sent out orders with Lord Slynt for most of our gold cloaks to converge there."

Bronn could only nod and a squire handed him a skin of wine which he drank from deeply. The wine and the rain refreshed him some. He stepped towards the battlements and the sight before him was awesome to behold. The whole bay was filled with ships, mostly oared galleys. Down below many were passing below the Red Keep towards the Rosby Road shore and to the left many were unloading troops by the Iron Gate and Rosby Road. On the right the green flames from his failed wildfire attack still filled the sea. Out on the bay at least twenty ships were turned broadside toward the city and from them came a steady stream of stones and arrows and large bolts. As Bronn watch a large catapult stone hit the battlements of a tower below and to his left and three men were swept off the tower and went screaming to their deaths on the rocks below the Red Keep. But many more men still manned the walls and a steady return firing was coming, especially near the Iron Gate. More flaming pots of pitch went through the air to land among men and ships there and many stones and arrows came from the walls and more men died or were maimed. Wildfire was also flung from the catapults but mostly landed on the water. Those that did catch fire were burning in spots where few ships were located.

As Bronn looked over by the Dragon Gate he could just make the outline of men running up there from the Iron Gate. They were already forming ranks. He looked toward the Imp. "Tyrion, we need to send out a party by the Dragon Gate to stop them from getting organized down there."

"Someone has already seen to that," said Lancel a second later. The rest of them rushed over to where he was pointing. Far away in the rain and darkness they could just barely see horses charging and men fighting and infantry fleeing from the area of the Dragon Gate.

Joffrey gave a cheer which no one joined in on. "Whose men are those?"

"Ours, apparently, Your Grace," Tyrion said dryly and Bronn knew his message had somehow gotten through to the Lannister army. Maybe they hadn't been destroyed after all.

Just then a weary man in Lannister colors arrived. "Your Grace," he gasped as he bowed to Joffrey. "I bring messages from Ser Kevan Lannister. The army is safe." Then he had to gasp for breath.

"Safe?" Tyrion said in disbelief. "But…we saw the flames. What happened?"

"A prisoner gave us warning of the attack, my lord," the man reported. "Ser Kevan ordered us out of camp below the city walls before the flaming oil came. Stannis' horse hit us but we repelled them with heavy losses."

"Flaming oil," Bronn said with smirk to Tyrion. "What was it you said it was?"

Tyrion gave him an irritated look. "Nevermind that. This changes everything."

"Yes," Joffrey said and he turned to the messenger. "I command Ser Kevan to bring his army to the Iron Gate at once."

"Your Grace," said Lancel quickly before the messenger could reply. "There is no room for them to move down there."

"He's right," Bronn added.

The messenger now spoke up. "Your Grace, we have not defeated the enemy cavalry. They have only retreated and are still out there, forming for another attack. Ser Kevan thinks they may be ten thousand strong."

Joffrey looked from one to the other and Bronn could see he was out of his depth. Then the King's eyes fell on Tyrion. "Uncle?"

Bronn could tell that single word from the King pleased Tyrion more than anything else that had happened so far. Tyrion raised his eyebrows as if to say, 'oh, so now you want my advice', and then he nodded once and spoke. "We must deal with the men by the Iron Gate ourselves, Your Grace. Ser Kevan and his men cannot break ranks or they would be ridden down by the enemy cavalry." Tyrion turned to Bronn. "My friend, feel like leading a sortie of gold cloaks to help those fellows down there?"

Bronn snorted. "Don't know about leading them, but I'll pass the word. Suppose someone down there already has the command."

"Then tell whoever it is to break those men and clear the Iron Gate," Tyrion told him. "We will continue to pour it on from up here." Then he turned to the Lannister messenger. "Return to Ser Kevan and tell him to maintain his position but send any men he can spare to the fight for the Iron Gate."

"At once, my lord," the man said and then he was gone, with Bronn not far behind him. Going down the long stairs down to ground level was faster than the climb up, but still exhausting nevertheless. Thankfully the page he had given his horse to hold had enough sense to stay there and Bronn was swiftly on his way to the Dragon Gate. On the way he stopped a captain with a small body of gold cloaks on horse clearing the streets of civilians who were in the way of reinforcements moving toward the Iron Gate.

"Do you know me?" Bronn shouted at the captain through the rain.

"You're the Hand's man," the captain said.

"Aye," Bronn replied. "Take these men and any more you can find on horse and follow me to the Dragon Gate!"

"But we have orders from Lord Slynt to keep the streets to the Iron Gate clear of civilians."

"I have orders from the Hand and the King for you to follow me!" Bronn retorted and the man hesitated and then turned to his men. "Follow me!"

As they moved they collected a few dozen more and by the time they got to the Dragon Gate close to two hundred men were following them. Bronn shouted for the men at the gate to open it and soon they were out in the rain and mud and then he saw a man on horse in white armor. It was the Kingslayer, the Imp's brother.

The Kingslayer spotted him and rode over to Bronn. "What news?" Ser Jaime shouted to him.

"They landed on the south bank of the Blackwater outside the river mouth and picked up thousands," Bronn shouted back. "They never even went up the Blackwater. Now they're moving across to this shore by the Iron Gate. We burned some of their ships and burned some who landed below the Red Keep but too many of the cunts are getting through."

"What of our fleet?"

"Moving out now to take them in the flank…I hope," Bronn said grimly. "It's fucking chaos out there." It truly was a chaotic scene out on Blackwater Bay in front of the city.

"Where's Tyrion?" Ser Jaime asked next, concern in his voice. Bronn noticed he did not ask about the King, his son.

"With the King on the battlements," Bronn replied. "He sent me to tell whoever was in command here to break that wall of men and kill those fuckers."

"That's what I'm trying to do!" Ser Jaime shouted back. "You get up above to the walls and rain wildfire on these men in front of me! Then I will charge once they begin to panic!"

"Right you are," Bronn said and then without a word he turned and rode back into the city. He could feel the weariness seep through his body but there was no time to be tired. I should have five or six men with me to pass messages, Bronn realized, an oversight in all the planning they did. Poor communications had killed many an army in the past he knew. The maze of city streets made getting to the walls difficult and finally he found a spot close to where the Kingslayer had pointed out the enemy ranks and soon he found a set of stairs built on the inner side of the walls and he was up on the battlements.

From here he could look down on the field between the Dragon and Iron Gates and saw it filled with Stannis' men. The gold cloaks here were few in number but were busy firing arrows and chucking spears and launching stones out of the one catapult they had.

"Where's the wildfire?" Bronn yelled at a soldier.

"There," the gold cloak said, pointing to a stack of pots behind him. To Bronn it looked like none had been thrown at all. He grabbed a gold cloak with sergeant's markings. "Why the hell ain't you been using the wildfire?"

"I'm not touching it!" the man said, fear in his eyes.

"Now you are!" Bronn said to him, battle madness on him finally, and he knew he would be alright. Once that feeling came he knew he would survive anything. "Get three more men and help me or I'll throw you over the fucking wall!"

The sergeant quickly obeyed him and as Bronn took a lit torch from its bracket the sergeant returned with three soldiers. Just as they lined up by the wildfire pots an arrow hit one from behind and penetrated his armor under the right shoulder. He screamed and collapsed and was led off by some others to be taken care of.

"Right," Bronn said to the men left. "Pick up a pot each. You toss that fucker fast and make sure you hit someone or close enough to someone down there. Once you throw them I'll toss the torch."

Each gold cloak bent to the stock and warily picked up a pot and moved to the wall. Bronn pointed with his torch to where Stannis men were forming a thick wall of Infantry with archers behind. "There!" he said and the first man flung his pot away from himself in terror and the pot barely cleared the battlements and crashed to the ground just below where they stood. Bronn smashed him in the face with his free hand and the gold cloak fell to his knees whimpering in pain, holding his nose which spurted blood.

"Fuck off back to dropping stones!" Bronn yelled at him and he crawled away, lamenting his broken nose. Bronn looked at the second man. "You throw this pot! If you drop it like that stupid cunt you'll get the sword, not my fist. Understand?"

"Yes, my lord!"

"I'm no lord," Bronn said in disgust and ordered the man to thrown his pot. This man tossed his pot far in the air in a high arc and it crashed down on the infantry and soon the other two did the same and Bronn tossed his torch out in a high arc to where the pots had landed. Soon a blaze of green fire filled the air and men were screaming in pain down there. Then they started bringing up more pots and soon three more crashed down on the panicking men down below and the flames spread. Bronn halted them when he saw the Kingslayer's cavalry charge and scatter the enemy and then a great cheer rose from the gold cloaks along the wall. Then Bronn saw the Kingslayer's men halted by a new line of infantry and they retreated all the way back to the Dragon Gate.

"You three with me!" Bronn shouted and they started to move along the wall toward the Iron Gate and where Stannis' new line of men was forming. But as they ran along the wall, avoiding the arrows and stones that came over it, suddenly to his right there came a shattering booming noise and Bronn halted and stared in disbelief as he saw a great ball of green fire and smoke rise in the air. All down below them in the city glass shattered, people screamed, houses trembled, and horses ran in panic. A ripple of air moved out from the center of the explosion and only Bronn had the sense to drop to the stone floor of the parapet. Not one second later the blast of air hit them and several gold cloaks standing near him went tumbling over the walls and fell screaming. Bronn knew that any who survived the fall would surely be killed by Stannis' men in seconds.

Bronn slowly stood and watched as green arcs came flying out of the great ball of fire that now rose over a hundred feet or more by the battlements between the Iron Gate and the Red Keep. The green arcs were pots of wildfire slowly tumbling in the air and then landing at many points around the city. In seconds over a dozen fires broke out and then it was as if a collective scream from almost three hundred thousand people rented the air. The city was now engulfed in panic.

"Bugger," Bronn said to himself and then he realized he was alone. An arrow whizzing past his left ear reminded him he was not quite alone. He dropped to the floor of the parapet again and thought on his only two options as he sat with his back to the battlements.

Run, was the first thing that came to mind. He'd done it before, more than once, and was still alive because he had done it.

Fight, was the second option. He looked off to his left toward the Iron Gate. Many men were still there, fighting for their city and now Bronn heard a booming sound. A ram was pounding on the gate. Bronn looked out and saw thousands of people fleeing through the twisting lanes and streets of the stinking city. Flea Bottom was right over there at the base of Rhaenys' Hill. The closest place for them to flee the fires now reaching out for their homes and hovels and pot shops and wine sinks was the Iron Gate. Already many of them were heading that way. Soon Stannis' men would not need a ram to get that gate open. The city was going to fall.

"Run," Bronn said to himself out loud and soon he was up and trotting in a stooped loping run back along the parapet toward the Dragon Gate. To his left fires were leaping up and spreading and the wildfire was now in the midst of an unquenchable source of fuel, three hundred years of filth and squalor about to be consumed. Even the rain that was falling steadily did not seem to slow its progress. Bronn came to the spot where he had left his horse but when he looked down as he came down the steps built into the inner side of the walls he saw his horse was gone. Some cunt had stolen it, no doubt. All the men that had been here earlier were gone as well. The gold cloaks had panicked and taken off, as he feared some of them would if the situation got out of control. A fire was burning down there now and Bronn reasoned he had a better chance of escaping if he stayed on the walls.

When he reached the Dragon Gate he saw the men that were supposed to be guarding it had left already. Below through the open gates a steady stream of people were running and out there in the fields they were gathering, a great huddled mass, looking back at their proud capital, now burning. His eyes searched for the Kingslayer and his men but they were gone.

Bronn kept going, moving at a trot now, conserving his energy, past the Old Gate, also abandoned and opened and then finally when he made it to the Gate of the Gods he found some gold cloaks still on duty. They saw him coming and thrust their spears out for protection and Bronn stopped short.

"It's Bronn you fools!" he shouted. They lowered their spears and Bronn rested for a moment on the battlements. Down below he saw that this gate was opened as well and many people were fleeing here.

"What do we do?" one gold cloak asked him. "We have no orders. No one knows where Lord Slynt is or any of the captains."

Bronn stared at him, thought about lying and then realized these men were almost the same as him. Certainly not as good, but just the same they were lads who had signed up for some coin and food. He couldn't lie to them. "The city is finished. The Lannister army is still out there, to the west. Come on, let's gather as many men as we can and get to the Lion Gate."

They agreed immediately and then as they moved they collected more men and finally what seemed a long wearisome march later they arrived at the Lion Gate, which had dozens of gold cloaks on top and was firmly shut. They were firing arrows down on some people trying to rush the gate from the inside. Out in the field below the walls the great bulk of the Lannister army stood in rank upon rank facing towards the west.

"What the fuck is this?" Bronn asked the commander of the gold cloaks at the Lion Gate.

"Orders! Ser Kevan told me to make sure no one gets through this gate!"

"There's an easier way," Bronn said and he picked up a nearby pot of wildfire and held it up but did not drop it.

Bronn shouted down to the people. "The Gate of the Gods is open! Now piss off over there or I'll set this pigshit on fire and drop it on the lot of you!"

In panic they started to move away and soon the area was clear. Bronn delicately set the pot down on its stack. Then he turned to the men who had come with him and the ones guarding the gate. "You men best come with me. If the heat gets too much that wildfire will cook us all." Then he went down to the street and the rest followed him quickly. They found the postern door and soon they were outside the city walls. Right away two Lannister men drew swords on Bronn.

"Halt!" one shouted.

"He's the Hand's man," said the Lion Gate gold cloak commander.

"You lot abandoned your post!" shouted the other one.

Bronn glared at him. "Listen, you stupid cunt. That wildfire stored up there is going to blow any time now from the heat. You want to stand down here and argue till that happens?"

"No," said the man with fear in his eyes as he looked up to the walls.

"Take me to your commander," Bronn told him, too weary to curse them out anymore. Soon he was brought before Ser Kevan Lannister and his command group, which included the Mountain.

"What news of the city?" Ser Kevan asked Bronn right away.

"It's all gone to hell," Bronn told him. "The wildfire got out of control. How, I don't know. The whole place is burning."

"Seven hells," snarled the Mountain. "That fucking Imp and his fucking wildfire. He'll cost us the war!"

Ser Kevan ignored his outburst. "What news of the King and the Queen and Tyrion?"

"The King and Tyrion were on the battlements with Lancel and some Kingsguards."

"Lancel?" Ser Kevan said sharply. "He's my son. What were they doing?"

"Looking at the battle, giving orders," Bronn said. "Where's Ser Jaime?"

Ser Kevan looked very vexed now. "His men said he went into the city to rescue Tyrion and Cersei."

"He's wasting his time," Bronn replied. "Tyrion had a plan of escape. Lord Varys knows all the ways in and out of the city, all underground. Once the wildfire blew Tyrion would know the city could not stand. They must be in the tunnels now."

"Where were they supposed to come out?" Ser Kevan asked.

"The Iron Gate," Bronn answered. "But they will change their plans. Varys, he's a smart one. He'll get them out."

Just then the Lion Gate behind them opened up and a lone man leading a horse came out. Behind him came a billowing cloud of white smoke and they could all feel the heat. He was wearing black armor. Many men drew swords and then Ser Kevan stopped them.

"It's Ser Jaime!" he shouted and they ran to his side just as Jaime collapsed to the ground. Bronn bent to him and touched his armor and immediately pulled his hand away it was so hot. The once white armor was covered in soot.

"Water!" shouted the Mountain and water was brought and Jaime drank and then he sat up and they took off his helmet and poured more water over his head and his armor. The still steady drizzle of rain helped cooled it more and it steamed as it cooled. Then a squire started to help him take it off.

"I…I couldn't reach the Red Keep," Jaime gasped finally. "The fire…its everywhere. I couldn't save them."

"The Red Keep is on fire?" Ser Kevan asked in astonishment. "Lancel was there, Bronn said."

Jaime shook his head. "No, the Red Keep is not on fire, uncle. But the streets leading to Aegon's Hill are all ablaze. There's bodies everywhere, smoke everywhere. The heat nearly killed me and my horse. Someone see to my horse, if you would." A page took it away to get some water.

"Bronn said Tyrion had a plan of escape," Ser Kevan told Jaime as they helped him stand. Bronn quickly explained.

"I don't know these tunnels," Jaime said. "Where could they come out?"

"Anywhere," Bronn replied. "Except by the Iron Gate now"

Jaime stood tall and drank some more water. "What is the situation here?"

"Nothing has happened since you left, my lord," the Mountain told him.

Jaime looked at Ser Kevan. "Uncle, there is nothing we can do for the King and Lancel and the others now. Any men we send in there will never get out. Tyrion will get them out or he won't. King's Landing will fall, and a nice present it will be for Stannis, a smoking ruin. I say let him have it. But thousands of his men are in front of us." Jaime pointed off to the west, where the fires Bronn had seen early had now died out or the rain had put them out. "Let's go kill those bastards and then we plan how to kill Stannis later."

Ser Kevan seemed to grow in confidence and nodded once and looked to his commanders. "Men, we will advance the army at a walking pace, infantry in line, not square, but be prepared to form square quickly. Archers behind the infantry. Ser Addam, send out scouts. Ser Gregor, Ser Addam form two flying columns of cavalry on each wing. At once, my lords."

The men ran off to do their duty and then Jaime looked at his uncle. "Where do you want me?"

"Here," he said. "With Bronn and forty men on horse and the gold cloaks from the Lion Gate. Wait here in case Tyrion and the others make it somehow."

"Uncle, I am ready for a new fight."

"Your armor is damaged, your horse is exhausted and so are you," Ser Kevan said. "I need you here, where you can rest and help Tyrion when he comes out of the city." Jaime seemed about to protest again but then wearily nodded. His uncle bade them good luck and they did the same and soon the Lannister army was marching to the west in the rain and darkness, leaving behind forty Lannister horsemen and about sixty gold cloaks under Jaime's command.

"What's happening, my lords?" the gold cloak commander asked.

"We're attacking those bastards out west," Jaime told him. Then suddenly there was an explosion above them, on top of the Lion Gate.

"There goes the wildfire," Bronn said as green flames leaped into the air and everyone moved swiftly away from the gate.

As they retreated Bronn looked up and could see the sky on glow from the fires. Gods, Tyrion, you bloody bastard, I hope you are still alive in that mess somewhere. Then he looked to the north and he could see the crowds of people fleeing from the city. Bronn looked over towards the river and he could see many people streaming along its banks, heading west.

"Looks like the Mud Gate is open now, too," he told Jaime.

"There is no safety to the west," Jaime replied. "Damn it. What do we do with them?"

"Nothing," Bronn said. "They're Stannis' people now, not yours to protect anymore."

Jaime grunted. "Stannis is not King yet."

"My lord," said one of Jaime's mounted men. "What do we do if the civilians come this way?"

"Charge," Jaime said with a grin at Bronn.

"Yes…yes, my lord," said the man with some hesitation.

Jaime shook his head. "A poor jest, my man. Leave them be unless they interfere in our business."

"Yes, my lord."

"Tyrion knows the army is here?" Jaime was asking Bronn suddenly.

"Aye, he does."

"Then he will tell Varys to find a way to reach the Lion, King, or Mud Gate."

"Aye, for certain, "Bronn answered and then he remembered something. "I lost my horse."

"And mine is not fit for battle," said Jaime. Just then his squire ran up with a suit of body armor in Lannister colors.

"Where did you get this?" Jaime asked.

"Off one of our dead men," the squire replied. "It looks your size, my lord."

"Well, I hope it serves me better than the last man who wore it,' Jaime said as the squire started helping him get it on. "After you are done get Bronn and myself some fresh horses. Or at least two of those wandering around here which are not wounded in some way."

After horses were found for them, they mounted up and moved their force off a bit farther from the Lion Gate to escape the heat and smoke, but kept close enough to ride down fast if needed. The city was aglow and the rain still kept falling, a steady patter on the men's armor, sometimes heavy, sometimes just a drizzle. But constant. Too bad wildfire burned in water. But Bronn knew that not all the fires in there were caused by wildfire and the pigshit would burn itself out eventually. Maybe something of the city would be saved. He then spit on the ground. Fuck the city. Stannis can have it.

Suddenly, behind them they heard a great shout and thundering hoofs and the clash of steel on steel. The Lannister army found Stannis' cavalry.

"Gods, I wish I was there!" Jaime said strongly.

Bronn snorted. "You know, I haven't drawn my sword all night. Funny, the great Battle of King's Landing and I spent it blowing up pigshit and running messages for you lords."

"It's not over yet," Jaime told him. And then, as if to emphasize his point, in the glow of the fires they saw a large body of men come around the city walls to the north by the Gate of the Gods. Suddenly, at almost the same time, they saw a light in the walls at ground level far to the left of where the Lion Gate was. "What's that?" Bronn asked, pointing. Then shadows moved in the light made by the opening and someone was coming out. Soon a group of people emerged, a few women and men and two children by the looks of it. They moved fast away from the city walls.

"Civilians, my lord," shouted Jaime's cavalryman who had asked about civilians earlier. "Coming our way."

"I think we'll leave this lot to Stannis' bunch to fed and shelter," Jaime said.

Bronn watched them and then as they staggered away from the smoke and heat of the city Bronn suddenly knew. That child, the way he walked, that waddle he had seen so often, that he had laughed at so many times and that he never knew he loved until this moment.

"IMP!" he shouted and with a flash he put his heels to the horse he was on and was charging down toward them, Jaime understanding instantly and was close on his heels with the other forty men as well, with the gold cloaks running behind them.

Stannis' men were coming toward Tyrion's small group, at least a hundred men or more, all infantry with spears. Whether they knew who it was in front of them or not, Bronn did not know and it did not matter.

Bronn turned his horse toward Stannis' men and Ser Jaime knew what he was doing and ordered his men to follow. In ten seconds they were on them and the enemy had no time to form a line as the horsemen shattered their ragged ranks. Bronn shouted in joy as his sword slashed down on a man and then his unfamiliar horse was tumbling and Bronn was out of the saddle and hitting the ground hard. The wind was knocked out of him but he knew he had to get up.

In seconds four of them with spears surrounded him and Bronn was in his element. A spear thrust towards him and he grabbed it and pulled the man forward and stabbed him with his sword. Then he thrust the spear behind him and skewered another who fell with a scream. He ducked as the third one's spear went flying past and then Bronn rolled over the first man he killed, pulled his sword out of his guts and brought it up into the fourth one's guts as he was bringing his spear down, just missing Bronn's left shoulder. Bronn kicked this one off his sword and turned to the one who had thrown his spear. This one suddenly found he'd rather not die today and took off running with the rest of his companions who felt the same way.

Ser Jaime rode up to him. "Well done."

"I got three. How about you?" Bronn asked as he caught his breath, looking around at about thirty dead and dieing men, mostly Stannis' lot.

"About twenty so far tonight. Come." He reached down a hand and helped Bronn up behind him. Soon they rode over to where Tyrion and his party was, surrounded by the gold cloaks who had their spears pointed outwards. Bronn looked quickly and saw Tyrion, Cersei, Podrick, Lord Varys, one of the Kingsguard, Tommen, Lancel, and Shae. But the King wasn't with them. Oh, bugger.

Jaime leaped off his horse and ran right into his sister's arms. "Jaime!" Cersei cried as she hugged him. Nearby her was the little boy Tommen, looking frightened, holding Shae's hand. Lord Varys was standing there, gasping for breath, barely alive with sweat pouring off him, his face almost black with soot. One of the Kingsguard, Ser Arys, and Podrick were helping Lancel stand. An arrow was buried deep in Lancel's right side near the arm pit and he was in agony. They were all covered in black soot and ashes and looked like they had been through hell.

Tyrion stood to one side, looking at Bronn. "You were right," Tyrion said ruefully. "We should never have used wildfire."

Bronn shrugged. "It could have worked."

"It did," said Tyrion. "For Stannis."

"Where's the King?" Bronn asked him and Tyrion just shook his head and Bronn knew Joffrey was dead.

Then Ser Jaime shouted, "Where is the King!" and Bronn realized he knew as well.

Bronn turned and Cersei was weeping and now Tommen started to cry as Shae tried to calm him down. Jaime was standing toe to toe with Ser Arys and Jaime was livid.

"Where is the King!" Jaime screamed again.

"He fell, my lord," Ser Arys told his commander.

Jaime looked at him for a moment in confusion. "Fell? In battle? You were supposed to protect him!"

"No, Jaime," Tyrion said gently. "He didn't fall in battle. When the wildfire blew up, the force flung Joffrey off the battlements and into the sea. Ser Boros and Ser Meryn fell as well."

"Then we must save them!" Jaime said strongly, preparing to mount his horse again.

"It's over a hundred feet high, perhaps two hundred, my lord," Lord Varys told him. "And there are many rocks below the Red Keep."

"He could have survived," Bronn said. "If he hit the water right. And if his armor didn't drown him."

Cersei seized on this. "Yes! We must search before Stannis' men find him!"

Jaime mounted his horse. "Let's go. Bronn. Ser Arys."

Tyrion looked at Bronn. "We are spent. Go with him. Keep him safe. If you do this I promise…"

"I know, I know. And Lannisters always pay their debts," Bronn said. "Your uncle took the army to the west to finish off those other buggers. We heard them fighting. You best head that way. Going there may not be the safest place but staying here ain't safe at all. Those bastards we attacked will be back soon with reinforcements."

Jaime ordered the gold cloaks and other men to stay with the Queen and Tommen. He just might be the new king, Bronn thought as he was given a new horse to mount, his third in as many hours. Ser Arys also got a horse and mounted up, weary as he was.

"I bet escaping from the city is a good tale," Bronn said to Tyrion from his horse.

"Come back alive and I will get you gloriously drunk and tell it all."

"That's a promise I look forward to," Bronn said with a grin and then he was away, chasing Jaime and Ser Arys across the fields.

What the fuck the Kingslayer expected to accomplished Bronn had no idea. That fucking tower they had been on wasn't the highest one in the Red Keep, but it was well over a hundred feet, maybe much more, from there to the sea. Joffrey and the other two were dead, no fucking doubt. But he guessed they had to make sure somehow.

They galloped past the Kings Gate and then a horde of civilians was clogging the way between the walls and the river by the Mud Gate. Jaime was yelling and cursing but no one moved. Bronn looked at the river wharves and saw one fishing boat tied up there. Al the rest were gone, to the south bank, where many people were being unload.

"Ser Jaime!' he shouted. "A boat will be faster!"

Jaime and Ser Arys galloped out onto the wharves and many people were here as well, trying to board the last boat and get across the river. They found the crew with spears and oars defending their little boat. Jaime leaped off his horse and bulled his way though the people.

"Who owns this boat?" he shouted.

"I do," shouted a grizzled old man. "Who's fucking asking…oh, shit. It's the Kingslayer."

"That it is," said Jaime as he leaped down into the boat. "You men are to take us out into the bay and search for someone we lost."

"Begging pardon, my lord," said the captain. "It's a bleeding war out there."

Jaime pulled his sword and Bronn and Ser Arys jumped down with him, steel drawn. "Man this fucking boat or I will sail it myself," Jaime commanded, the implication being that the captain would not be around any longer to do so himself.

"Aye, my lord," the captain said and then he shouted orders and his men untied the boat and cast off and pushed it out into the river as people begged them to take them with them. As they moved away many people fell in the river and were carried away by the current, screaming and floundering about. The current carried the small boat swiftly down the river. There on the south bank Bronn saw the remains of the only two ships his wild fire plan destroyed. The south bank was empty of men now.

As they came out into the bay the six man crew manned three oars on each side and started to row hard. Jaime shouted to the captain from the prow. "Under the Red Keep, close ashore."

"Aye," said the captain at the tiller near the rear. He looked at Bronn. "Who we bleeding looking for who is so important to risk me little boat? The bleeding King?"

"Aye," Bronn told him and the captain's eyes widened. "If we find him you'll be richly rewarded. Ser Jaime here is a Lannister and you know what they say about Lannisters and debts."

"That I do," the captain said, his eyes now shining with greed.

Bronn looked out to sea and there were many ships here and all seemed to be standing off, not moving. He also saw more than a few sinking or sunk ships and it seemed as if some kind of naval battle had gone on here. The royal navy had made a stand and had been defeated by the looks of things. All the surviving ships had large bright yellow banners. The bay was dotted with bodies and wreckage. He looked back towards the city and it was still aglow with the fires. Off on the Rosby Road shore were many beached boats and many men on the shore, a great horde of men, all near the Iron Gate. But it was too far away to see much.

Slowly they rowed under the Red Keep, close to shore, and no one took notice of them or came to see what they were doing. Ser Arys spoke suddenly and pointed up. "That's the tower he fell from."

Bronn looked up and saw how high it was. "That's over a one hundred fifty feet for sure."

"I see a body!" Jaime said and then he ordered the captain to get as close to shore as he could. Jaime jumped into the waist deep water and Bronn followed him, with Ser Arys left on board to make sure their enforced crew did not row away.

The body was lying on some rocks and was in the armor of the Kingsguard. Jaime took one look at it and told Bronn it was Ser Meryn. He was dead, his legs and body twisted at a grotesque angle.

"Ser Meryn?" Bronn said. "Ain't he the one beat the Stark girl?"

"So I've heard," Jaime replied. "Maybe the gods were watching him in their own cruel way."

"If the King hit the rocks, he's dead as well," Bronn said. Jaime said nothing. He looked along the shore line towards where the Iron Gate was. There was a spit of land sticking out there, Bronn knew. Jaime started walking toward the spit of land.

"I wouldn't go along that way," Bronn told him. "I had some wildfire buried along here. Some of them pots haven't gone off yet."

Jaime said nothing but turned back to the small fishing vessel and soon they were back on board.

"Who was it?" Ser Arys asked Bronn as Jaime resumed his position in the prow and they started moving again.

"Ser Meryn," Bronn told him. "What happened to the rest of you lot? Seven of you, wasn't there?"

"Clegane is at Harrenhal, Ser Jaime and I are here," the knight began. "Ser Meryn is dead, Ser Boros also was flung from the tower and is most likely dead as well. Ser Preston and Ser Mandon were with the Queen and Prince Tommen. When we found them we all escaped into the tunnels. We were in the tunnels and were attacked by Stannis' men. Ser Mandon and Ser Preston were guarding our rear. They fought and must have died there. But I didn't see them fall. Lord Tyrion told me to press on. I could not abandon Prince Tommen or the Queen."

"Attacked in the tunnels?" Bronn said with some surprise. "How in hell did Stannis' men get in the tunnels? How they even know about the tunnels?"

"Stannis lived in King's Landing for many years."

"Aye, so did Baelish, that cunt," Bronn said, remembering Littlefinger was a prisoner. Or was he? Attacked in the tunnels. The Imp had a quite tale to tell of his adventures for sure.

Now they were far along the shore and near that spit of land sticking out. They saw more bodies floating in the water but none were Joffrey or Ser Boros. Suddenly the captain ordered his men to stop rowing.

"I ain't going any further, my lord," the captain said to Jamie. "They'll see us soon enough if they ain't already."

"I need to get closer to the Iron Gate, to see what they are doing," Jaime replied in frustration.

"Why didn't you say so?" said the captain. "Got me a spy glass for that." He reached into a leather bag and pulled out a Myrish spyglass and handed it to Jaime.

"How in seven hells did you get a spy glass?" Bronn asked him.

"The Spider gave it to me," said the captain. "Gift, he said, for finding one of Stannis' spies right on this very shore. The spy had it on him."

"What happened to the spy?"

"Don't know. In the dungeons or dead, I reckon."

Jaime was standing on the prow, the spy glass to his right eye, looking and looking and then he gasped. "He's dead. Gods, they are going to burn his body!"

Bronn ran up to the prow and Jaime handed him the glass. Bronn pointed it toward the Iron Gate area, just over the spit of land that jutted into Blackwater Bay. There was much light there as they had lit many fires by the gate. The battle was over there. The gates were open and a large crowd of people, soldiers and civilians, was there. Bronn could just make out a woman in red, and standing beside her was a man with a sword that seemed on fire. That had to be Stannis. Suspended from a large crossed pole was a body without a head. The body had the clothing and armor that Joffrey had worn that day. Then, Bronn saw it. Stuck in the sand next to the crossed pole was a very tall pike. On it was mounted a head with blond hair. It had to be Joffrey's head.

Below the headless body were many branches stacked high and the woman was raising her arms in the air and many soldiers were chanting. The civilians looked on in horror, hemmed into a group by spearmen, but they were not harming them. Now those on the boat could hear them across the water, but the words were muffled and indistinct. Then Stannis placed his glowing sword in the branches and they burst into a sudden flame. Then the chanting grew louder and louder as the flames reached Joffrey's body.

Before Bronn knew it, Jaime was standing on the prow, his sword drawn. "I will kill that red cunt and her master right now." He leaped off the boat and landed in shallow water, only up to his chest, and started wading to shore where the spit of land was.

"Fuck," Bronn said and then he put down the spy glass and jumped in after him. The bottom was rocky under the water and Bronn almost twisted his ankle on a rock when he jumped in but his good leather boots were stiff and his foot just slid off the rock.

"Come help me or leave me alone to do my duty, Bronn," Jaime said in anger as he waded to shore.

"Tyrion told me to take care of you!" Bronn shouted back. "Can't let you go kill yourself for a dead King."

Jaime stopped and turned. "He wasn't just the King to me."

"Aye. I know."

"Yes, I suppose you do. Tyrion or Ned Stark?"

"Stark."

Jaime sighed wearily. "I don't really think of him as my son. But he is blood nonetheless. And I will have vengeance. For my father at least."

"What will your death prove?"

"I won't die. I can take Stannis on any day. I will challenge him to single combat. His honor will not allow him to refuse in front of his men and his whore."

"Aye, no doubt you'll beat him. But the man had his own brother killed. He sent assassins after your father. What fucking honor does he have left? He'll never fight you. And he's not alone. You'll never get to him."

"Look, just run back to Tyrion if you don't want to…"

"OH, BUGGER!" came a scream from the boat and Bronn turned in time to see the men and Ser Arys leaping off it just as a small galley smashed into its other side and cleave the fishing ship in two.

"Time to go!" Bronn shouted and Ser Jaime hesitated. "You've got another son and a daughter!" Bronn shouted to him as he backed away. Jaime let out a scream of frustration and then started to follow him toward shore.

From the galley came shouts and arrows started being fired and men leaped into the water and drew swords and started after the desperate crew. Jaime and Bronn reversed direction and clashed with the enemy men, the battle lust on them again, and Jaime was enraged and fought like a demon. Ser Arys turned and fought also and between the three of them they killed six men in the shallow waters and the rest backed off, fleeing from their wrath, especially Jaime's. Bronn and Ser Arys had to grab him and pull him away so he wouldn't try to board the galley and kill every one there. Arrows came again but missed Bronn and only a few found their mark on the other two, and glanced off Jaime and Ser Arys' armor with ease. Bronn and Jaime reached the shore and the fishermen were already there, running fast. Ser Arys came last, slowed by his heavy armor, and then they moved swiftly out of arrow range along the shore. After a while they realized no one was following them.

"My ship," lamented the captain. "My beautiful ship. Gone. Bugger."

"It was a piss bucket," said one fisherman, with an accent from Braavos, Bronn knew. He had served with many men from the east.

"I'll get you a new ship," Jaime told the man. "A bigger, better one." The captain seemed happier after that.

It took them a long thirty minutes to walk around the base of the Red Keep and they stayed out in the water from the shore because Bronn said some wildfire was still buried there. When they reached the Mud Gate and the wharves it was still a chaos of displaced humanity. Of course, their horses were already gone from the wharves, and they had expected that. Many people asked them what to do.

"Stannis is in charge now," Bronn told one old man. "He's at the Iron Gate. Go ask him."

"You bastards burned our city!" lamented a fat man who looked like he had some wealth.

"You're alive," Jaime told him. "Consider yourself lucky. Now get the hell out of our way or we'll cut our way through you."

They found some gold cloaks in the crowd, about ten, and Jaime ordered them to follow him and they did so. They got out of there swiftly and stayed close to the Blackwater as they headed upstream. The fishermen that helped them followed them and a long weary hour or so later, they found the army, near the first bridge.

It seemed as if a celebration was going on. The outer guards they met told them of a great victory, that they had routed Stannis' cavalry, and the survivors were fleeing west or had fled across the river and the Mountain was giving chase. Jaime ordered the fishermen and gold cloaks to stay there and told the guards to find them some food. Then they headed for where the guards had said Ser Kevan's command post was located. As they walked they saw the army was weary but happy at least. Men were eating and drinking water and wine and were sitting around fires getting warm from the chilly night air and dampness. Bronn suddenly realized it had stopped raining. He had been wet for so long he hadn't even noticed it.

They came into the open air command post where they found a fire and Ser Kevan and the other commanders and the Queen and Tyrion and Lord Varys, who were all in deep conversation. Little Tommen was sitting on a log by Shae, and he seemed to be better and was giggling a bit. Bronn also saw two of the Kingsguard here in their distinctive armor, looking a bit black and dented now. It was Ser Preston and Ser Mandon, who had somehow fought their way out of the city. They stood close by, one near Cersei and one near Tommen.

A sudden hush fell as Ser Jaime's small group came into the circle of light made by the fire. Cersei looked at her brother.

"Joffrey?" she asked, one word, the implications of the answer well-known to all present.

Jaime didn't even look at her and went straight to Tommen and stood in front of him and dropped to one knee and they had their answer. Cersei gasped and let out a cry of anguish and her uncle hugged her. Bronn guessed they had put aside their differences Tyrion had mentioned. Now everyone knew what had happened and Ser Arys and the other two Kingsguard fell to one knee besides Jaime and then Tyrion faced Tommen and did so as well and Ser Kevan and the other commanders and Lord Varys did it too. Shae came off the log and stepped back and knelt beside the little boy and then Bronn dropped to one knee as well, figuring he'd be a real rotten cunt if didn't do so, even though he cared not for kings or queens. Cersei was the last to fall to one knee, as if not ready to believe her oldest son was dead, but finally she did as well.

Ser Jaime pulled out his sword and placed it in front of him on the ground. The other armed men did the same. Bronn didn't want to do it, but felt the weight of the occasion and thought, what the hell, it means nothing to me anyway.

Little Tommen sat on the log and was utterly confused by all that was happening around him.

"Ser Uncle," he said in his small boy's voice. "Where is Joffrey?"

"Your Grace," Jaime said to his son. "The King, your brother, is dead. I name you King Tommen Baratheon, the First of Your Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm. I pledge my sword to your life and will not rest until your house is avenged."


	28. Chapter 28 Tyrion

**Ned Stark Lives! Chapter 28 Tyrion**

Bronn was right that it was some foolish thing that set the wildfire off, but it wasn't done by one of his men, or any of the gold cloaks, and any Lannister guards. It was Stannis' men, and it all happened quite by accident. Bronn had guessed right about one thing. Petyr Baelish had told Stannis about some secret ways into the city. He knew one spot in particular, a small hidden door concealed by stone and brush near the shore by the Iron Gate. This information partially helped Stannis decide to attack there in the first place. A picked party of thirty men were selected to find the door, get in, and get up and inside to take the party of gold cloaks by the Iron Gate by surprise and open the gates before anyone knew what had happened. It might have worked except for two things. The men got lost once inside. And the two commanders in charge hated each other. One was a Stannis man and a lover of the Lord of the Light. The other was a former Renly man and a follower of the Seven.

"It's this way," said the Renly man to the Stannis man as they came to a fork in the tunnels. One led left and one led right but they were hopeless lost already and had no idea where the Iron Gate was.

"No, it's this way," said the Stannis man with the fiery heart on his breast plate armor. They stood stooped in the cramped tunnels, lit torches held by several men giving them light.

"Piss off that way if you want," the Renly man snarled. "Bugger you and your Lord of Light."

"His Grace will hear about this insolence!"

"Good," said the Renly man. "Me and the lads got grievances. Now piss off." With that he and half the men turned to the left and the Stannis man cursed at them and then led the other half of the group to the right.

The Renly man's group moved fast and then found some stairs and climbed a bit and then came to a long cool tunnel made of solid brick. It was higher and they could stand upright and had plenty of head room here. At the end of the tunnel was a small light. As they approached someone shouted to them.

"Halt!"

"It's all good," said the Renly man. "The Imp sent us down here to relieve you lads."

There were two guards in Lannister colors, outside a thick door. They had a heavily shield lamp for their only light and they peered in the gloom trying to see who was coming down the tunnel.

"You fools!" shouted one suddenly. "Put out those torches!"

"Right," said the Renly man and then two spears were flung down the tunnel and the two guards were skewered and dropped with screams. The men ran up and finished them off with sword blows.

"This must be the way up into the city, lads," said the leader after they finished dragging the bodies aside. "Why else would they guard the door?"

It took three of them to turn the large rusting handle on the door and open it. The leader held up his torch and looked inside and saw a large vaulted room with many clay pots.

"Fuck, it's just some storage room."

"What is it?" asked another eagerly. "Gold?"

"No," said the leader as he moved his torch closer to one of the pots. "Just filled with some green shit. It's dripping out everywhere." And that was the last thing he ever said. His torch's heat lit the first pot of green wildfire and it exploded in his face and sprayed more on the man beside him. As they screamed in agony the other men tried to flee back down the tunnel and more pots began to cook off. Soon the room was a raging conflagration. Just as a secret trap was triggered above to release a ton of sand into the vault, the wildfire reached critical stage and the whole mess of several thousand pots exploded in one flash of fiery hell.

The sand prevented some of the force and fire getting out but in their haste to please the Queen the pyromancers had made too much of the stuff and had made it very well, their skills never as good in so long. The potent brew and poor shielding led to a disaster. The explosion ripped up and out through the street running from the Iron Gate to the Red Keep. High into the air the force and fire came like an enraged green demon. Many pots on fire, but not yet exploded, went arching high into the air, across the city, over the walls and into the sea and down by the Iron Gate where Stannis' army was trying to force the gate.

On top of the drum tower of the Red Keep Tyrion Lannister saw it all happen. They were just cheering as a large stone hit one of Stannis' ships down below when the catastrophe struck.

Joffrey was leaning far over the battlements, looking over at the ocean side, with Ser Boros and Ser Meryn standing near him trying to convince him to be careful, when the explosion happened. The King just had time to say, "Oh!" when the blast of wind hit him and his two bodyguards. With yells the three of them went into the air and over the walls.

"The King!" yelled Ser Arys as the blast buffeted him and slammed him into the battlements. Podrick and Tyrion and Lancel and the catapult crew were not so close and only got shaken up and knocked to their knees. As Podrick helped Tyrion up he looked in awe at the green column of smoke and fire that was rising into the air as high as the tower they were on. One pot of wildfire came hurtling towards them but it just cleared the far side of their tower and went off towards the sea below.

"The King!" Ser Arys yelled again and then Tyrion realized something very bad had happened. He rushed to where Ser Arys was looking.

"The King went over!" he said in anguish. "Ser Meryn and Ser Boros are gone as well."

Tyrion could not believe it for a second and then he knew it had to be true. Joffrey was no where in sight and Ser Boros and Ser Meryn were also gone. And he instinctively knew all three of them were dead. Well, he thought, that solved his Joffrey problem. Problems. For just a millisecond he felt a touch of guilt for feeling glad his nephew was dead and then he remembered what a cruel little shit he was and that someday someone would have to kill him anyway before his cruelty destroyed the kingdoms. Better he fell in battle defending the realm.

Then Lancel was by his side and so was Podrick. All four of them looked and could see nothing but the rocks and sea below and the ships filling the bay.

"We have to get down there!" Lancel shouted at Tyrion.

"The King is dead," Tyrion told him calmly. "No one could survive that."

"He's right," said Ser Arys reluctantly. "We have failed in our duty." Then he stood straight and tall. "Prince Tommen is king now. We must go to him and give him this news."

"Say nothing to anyone," Tyrion warned them. "Let me do the talking or we'll have a panic."

"Too late, my lord," said Podrick. Far out in the city fires were already spreading and the people were running for their lives. Down by the Iron Gate Tyrion could just make out a large crowd fleeing from Flea Bottom and surging towards the Iron Gate. Slynt was down there with almost three thousand gold cloaks, on the walls, and behind the gate. But soon they would be outnumbered ten to one, inside and outside.

"It is time to go," Tyrion quietly told them. He looked at the catapult crew. "Why have you stopped firing? Get to work!"

The men just gapped at him. "But, my lord," said one. "The King…"

"The King is dead," Tyrion told him. "But Prince Tommen is the new king and the city is still at war and you have your duty. See to it."

"Yes, my lord!"

The men were loading the catapult as Tyrion, Lancel, Pod, and Ser Arys left the tower.

"What do we do?" Lancel asked once they were inside the tower stairway.

"Where is Tommen?" Tyrion asked Ser Arys, ignoring Lancel for the moment.

"In Maegor's holdfast with the Queen and the high born ladies of the city."

"That is where we go," Tyrion told him. "Pod, you get to my quarters. Find Shae. Take her to the spot we discussed. Lord Varys should be there already. And please tell him to wait for us before he dashes off to save his own hide."

"We're running?" Lancel asked, as if it was shameful to do such a thing.

"No, dear cousin," Tyrion told him, with more than a hint of irritation in his voice. "We are securing the future of the kingdom. With Joffrey lost, all depends on Tommen now. This city will fall. There is nothing we can do about that now. And Stannis is welcome to the pile of stinking humanity, if there is anything left of it by morning. Come if you wish or stay and fight. I am going."

Tyrion didn't wait for an answer he just started down the stairs again and he knew the rest were following. A long time later, through many corridors, across courtyards and a drawbridge to the Maegor's holdfast, they came to the room where Cersei was attempting to be civil to the high born ladies of the city. As soon as Tyrion came into the room she walked with steady strides right over to him, Ser Preston and Ser Mandon right behind her.

"What was that noise?" she asked right away. "It shook the very foundations of this castle."

"That was my…our…wildfire out of control," Tyrion told her. She stared at him with wide eyes. Then she saw who was with him, and who wasn't, and she turned her attention to Ser Arys.

"Where is the King?"

"Your Grace," Ser Arys began, but he could not say it.

"The explosion, Your Grace," Lancel told her, not looking her in the eye. "He was leaning over the battlements…the force…"

"He fell into the sea," Tyrion finally said.

Cersei stood there and the look on her face was shock, Tyrion knew. This was much worse than when he told her father had died. "He fell…into the sea?" she repeated. "But…"

"No, Cersei," Tyrion said as gently as he could. "It is over one hundred feet high. If he did hit the water and lived, he was wearing heavy armor. It would take him under."

Cersei's fell back into a chair and her face seemed to be crumbling and she was on the verge of losing total control. Tyrion grasped her left hand tight. For once she didn't recoil from his touch. "We must maintain our composure," Tyrion told his sister in a whisper. "The city is in a panic, sister. The people are fleeing. The gates will soon be opened by them and Stannis' army will pour through. The city will fall. We must protect Tommen and get him out of here."

With this her eyes lit up and she stood. "Yes. Where is Tommen? Tommen!" The little boy came running over to them.

"Yes, mother?" he asked and she hugged him tight.

"Tommen my son, my…prince. We are going."

"Where?"

"With Uncle Tyrion," she told him. "I will explain later. Come."

"One at a time," Tyrion said. "We don't want to cause a panic. Lancel, go first."

Lancel left, and then Ser Arys soon after. After a moment Tyrion decided it was time for rest to go. As they were about to leave some ladies came over to ask for news and Tyrion told them all was well. The King wanted to see his mother to share in the sight of Stannis' fleet burning and they were going up on the battlements to watch it all. A lie, of course, but Tyrion did not need a mass of panicky women following him through the tunnels. They had a better chance of surviving in here anyway. The Red Keep was surrounded by a moat as was the holdfast. It was solid stone. They might be raped later, but at least they wouldn't burn. Then he noticed Ser Ilyn Payne standing by a wall like a statute with his executioner's sword on his back.

"What is he doing here?" Tyrion asked Cersei.

"Guarding us," she answered as she griped Tommen's hand.

"Then he can stay and guard them. Time to go."

Ser Preston marched ahead of them and with Ser Mandon behind they walked out the doors. Twenty long minutes later they inside the Red Keep's lowest levels. Already waiting for them was Varys and Shae and Podrick.

"Your Grace," Varys said solemnly to Cersei. "I have heard the dreadful news. You have my condolences."

Cersei stared at him. "We don't know if he is dead. He only fell."

"Yes, Your Grace," Varys replied. "Anything is possible. Come, we must hurry."

But Cersei stopped them and looked at Shae. "Who is she?"

"My serving girl," Varys told her quickly. "Her name is Shae. I could not leave the poor thing behind for Stannis' men to abuse."

"Introductions can surely wait," Tyrion snapped in irritation. "Unless you all wish to wait for the city to fall."

Varys pressed on a stone by a torch bracket and a door swung in next to it. Varys took the torch in the bracket and went inside first. It was a narrow fit and Varys and the Kingsguards men barely squeeze through. Once inside, Varys closed the door behind them. He then handed torches to Pod and Lancel and lit them.

"Ser Arys, go first behind Lord Varys," Tyrion told him. "Lancel and Pod stay close to the Tommen and the Queen and…what was your name?"

"Shae," she said to him with pursed lips.

"Yes, Shae," Tyrion replied. "Stay in the middle. Ser Preston and Ser Mandon form our rear guard."

"Come," Varys said. "It is far to walk but it is safe under here."

"The Iron Gate is not an option now," Tyrion reminded Varys as they walked. "The Lannister army is near the Lion Gate."

"Then we shall go there," Varys answered.

"Where are we?" Tommen asked as they kept walking.

"Under the city," his mother replied. "We are going to find your uncle Jaime and Ser Kevan. They will help us win."

"Where is Joffrey?"

"He's…he's still fighting," Cersei told him.

No one spoke after that for a while, except for Varys to tell them to turn here or wait here. They went up stairs, and down stairs, through archways and old and rusted doors that squealed in protest when opened. Then Tyrion sniffed and smelled smoke.

"Fire is somewhere down here," he said in worry. Soon they all smelled it and they could see the smoke coming from a tunnel ahead.

"That leads toward the Iron Gate," Varys told him. "We must get by here quickly or we will suffocate."

They picked up the pace and were almost running. The smoke was getting thicker and was soon causing them to cough and set their eyes streaming with tears. At last they made it past the spot and the air began to get clearer. Tyrion began to feel they would escape when suddenly there was a shout behind them and he heard the clash of steel on steel.

"Run!" Tyrion told Cersei and she needed no encouragement, as she and Shae and Tommen ran forward. Ser Arys stopped and Tyrion glared at him. "Stay with the Prince!"

Tyrion and Pod and Lancel turned back and saw Ser Preston and Ser Mandon fighting in the narrow tunnel. Two men lay dead at their feet in seconds. Tyrion ran back to them and looked at the dead men in his torch light. They both had the fiery heart on their armor.

"Stannis' men," he said.

"How did they get here?" Lancel asked in worry.

"Never mind that," Tyrion told him. "Let us get away before more come."

They moved back to where Lord Varys had waited for them. They were in a small circular room and five doors led off it. Varys pointed to them one by one. "Old Gate, Gate of the Gods, Lion Gate, Kings Gate, and Mud Gate. Each leads to a tunnel that comes to the walls. Then you walk inside the walls a bit and there is a hidden door to the outside."

"Lion Gate," Tyrion said at once. Then they could hear footsteps running from where they had come. Varys opened the door and went in and was quickly followed by Cersei and Tommen and Shae and Ser Arys.

Almost as soon as they were inside, six men burst into the circular room, all with the fiery heart on their armor. Tyrion had a small battleaxe and now dropped his torch to the ground and wielded his axe for the first time that day. Pod and Lancel took out their swords as well and the five met the six with a clash of steel. Tyrion ducked low and his adversary's sword swipe went over his head and he slashed at the legs of the man. The axe bit deep into the shin and calf and the man screamed in pain and fell and Tyrion smashed his axe into his chest but the armor protected him. The man tried to lift his sword for a counterattack but Pod was on him then and drove his sword into the man's face.

As Tyrion looked up, Ser Preston finished his man with an upswing of his sword which took the man under the chin and near cut his face off. Two still alive ran away. Just as they were congratulating themselves four arrows came into the room from the tunnel and one found Lancel in a weak spot in his armor under the right arm pit. He yelled in pain and collapsed and they dragged him to the side as more arrows came in. Then it was quiet for a moment, but down the tunnel they could here men whisper and planning

"Get Lancel out of here," Ser Preston said to Tyrion. "You three get away. Protect the Prince and the Queen. We will hold them here."

"Yes," Tyrion said at once, having no wish to end his days in a dismissal tunnel under this dismal city. He picked up his torch again and Pod lifted Lancel up. Ser Preston and Ser Mandon blocked the tunnel with their heavily armored bodies. More arrows came but bounced off their thick armor. They heard someone shout. "They're the bloody Kingsguard! The bastard king is down here! Get more men!"

Tyrion did not hear the rest. He and Lancel and Pod slipped into the Lion Gate door and Tyrion slammed it closed behind him. He had a strong feeling those two would die back there but that is what they asked for when they agreed to join the Kingsguard.

"I can walk," Lancel said, as they started up the tunnel.

"Good," Tyrion told his cousin, but they hadn't gone a hundred feet when Lancel sagged and dropped and Pod had to help him.

"I can't stand it," Lancel groaned as he fell once more. "Take the arrow out,"

"No, ser," Pod said at once. "It will bleed more. We need a maester."

They moved a bit more, and then they turned to the right and then to the left and passed a door and then they found Varys and Cersei and the others.

"Why have you stopped?" Tyron asked.

"The tunnel is blocked, my lord" Shae told him. In the flickering light Tyrion could see that many stones and earth had fallen into the tunnel.

"I suspected some construction above us," Varys said.

"Some idiot lord and his new manse," Cersei growled. Then she saw Lancel was injured.

"You were attacked?"

"Yes," Tyrion replied. "Our friends from Dragonstone have returned. Our gallant knights are protecting our rear but how long they can stand I know not."

"Go back," Varys said. "The door we passed leads to a certain one of Littlefinger's establishments. It is between the Lion Gate and the Gate of the Gods. We have to go the rest of the way through the streets."

In a few minutes they were climbing a short set of stairs and then came into a small room and then a larger one. The house was empty. Out on the streets they could see the flicking of the fires and smoke was in the air. Varys led them outside and Tyrion now saw the full extent of the damage. Fires raged everywhere and down the street people were fleeing. Smoke was in the air and they all starting having trouble breathing.

"This way," Varys said as he gasped for breathe. He led them towards the wall that Tyrion could now see ahead. They hurried directly to the wall and then they walked along it to the right. Varys was looking for something and then he found a spot on the wall and down at it's base he reached and he dug into the dirt. Tyrion held his torch close and Varys found a metal handle that was buried in the ground there.

"There is a small door here. We must dig around here," Varys said. Pod and Ser Arys got on their knees and dug with their helmets and swords. All the while the others waited anxiously, coughing from the smoke and looking back towards the city with worried eyes.

"It's all your fault," Cersei suddenly said to Tyrion. "You and you wildfire."

"Me?" he replied in indignation. "You, dear sister, started the pyromancers making it again."

"And you wanted it and I gave it to you!" she spat back. "Father warned you it was dangerous. But you had to have your way. Look what it has done! It has burned our capital and has given Stannis his victory! And...and...Joffrey. We must find him!"

"Cersei," Tyrion said quietly. "He's dead."

"He's not dead," Cersei retorted. "He is still King until we find his body."

"Who's not dead?" Tommen asked. "Mommy…who died? Is it grandpa?"

"No, my son…my prince…my love," she said, bending down to him with tears in her eyes. "Joffrey…he's missing…he got hurt."

Now Tommen started to cry as well. "Is he with Maester Pycelle?"

"I…I hope so," said Cersei. "He will take care of him."

She took Tommen in her arms and hugged him tight as if she never wanted to let go again.

Shae looked at Tyrion. "How are you, my lord?" she whispered.

"Tired," he said, as he looked out on the burning city. "Of all this. I just want to go somewhere where no one is fighting and the wine is sweet and I can sleep all day and…well, you know what I like to do all night."

"Yes, my lord."

"It's enough," Lord Varys said suddenly. He jumped down into the narrow pit they had dug, pushed on the door handle, then pushed in and it opened. The way was small and narrow and again Varys and Ser Arys had the most trouble getting through, but soon they were all inside the thick walls. Varys again led the way with a lit torch and soon they came to another door, and he pulled on its handle and it pulled in and fresh air came to them from outside. Varys squeezed through and then Cersei, Shae, and Tommen went, followed by Ser Arys and Pod helping Lancel out. Tyrion was last.

They staggered away from the walls, all of them tired from their ordeal. Tyrion looked for the army but it was nowhere in sight. Then he saw men coming towards them from along the walls to the north.

"Our men?" he asked Ser Arys.

"No," the knight said. "Stannis'. We are outnumbered, my lord. Best you and Pod run with the Prince."

"No…we…"

"And then I heard you shouting 'IMP'," Tyrion told Bronn as they sat in a tent getting very drunk. "And well, you know the rest."

"Aye," said the sellsword. "I still say my story is more exciting."

"All right, you win," Tyrion said and he filled Bronn's cup again. "Charging enemies on horseback, throwing wildfire over walls, and having a galley crash into a boat does seem more exciting then waddling my way through tunnels."

"At least you killed a man."

"No, Pod killed him. I just disabled him."

"How in fuck did they get down there in the first place?"

"I bet it was Baelish," Tyrion replied. "He may have known of some ways into the tunnels."

"The Queen can't refuse to hang him now."

"No, she can't."

Just then the tent flap opened and Tyrion could see night had fallen outside. It had been two days since the battle and they had not moved from near the first bridge. The army rested and prepared for more battle. Scouts had come in to say the large Lannister host from the west was not a day's march away now. Ser Gregor had returned with much booty and many high born prisoners and good horses from his defeat of Stannis' cavalry. They had found some supplies and intact tents back at the old camp. Even Shagga and Timett and the others had come back, a few less in number, but with some booty they had taken that Stannis' men had left behind when they had moved to their ships.

On a sad note, he learned Ser Jason was one of those who fell in the battle with Stannis' cavalry. His body was being prepared by the Silent Sisters to return to his family in the west. They had lost over a thousand men killed, and about the same number wounded, plus some prisoners, but not many were missing. Most of the casualties were in the cavalry.

As for the city, it burned all the next day after the battle and smoke filled the eastern horizon. Then on the second night heavy rains came and by morning the smoke was much less. As of yet there was no sign of Stannis' army. Scouts reported that some men were camped near the Lion Gate. There were calls for a sudden attack on them but Ser Kevan told them to wait and rest and recover. He also feared a trap and such a small force might be bait to draw them out.

As the tent flap opened Ser Preston came in. His armor was still dented but at least it was clean now. "The Queen," he said.

Cersei came in after him and stood there. Neither Tyrion or Bronn moved to get up or show her any courtesy. She snorted. "I should have known you two would be in your cups."

"Come, join us, dear sister," Tyrion said jovially. "I was just regaling Bronn with the story of our escape from the city."

"I need words with you Bronn," she said at once and Bronn and Tyrion both raised their eyebrows in surprise.

"Aye, Your Grace," he said and Tyrion was glad he had the sense to address her properly.

"Ser Jaime is reluctant to tell me how Joffrey was found," Cersei said as she remained standing. Then she took a deep breath. "I will have the truth of this."

"Ah, well, it's a bit gruesome," Bronn started and Tyrion winced.

"I want to know," she said again, with more force.

"As you wish, Your Grace," Bronn said and he drank from his cup once more and spoke. "His head was off, on a pike, stuck in the sand. His body was hung up on a crossed pole and Stannis set some brush at its foot on fire. Then the body burned. Last thing I saw."

Gods, he was so direct, Tyrion thought as he watched Cersei's face struggle to maintain its composure. Tyrion filled a cup of wine and handed it to her and she drank it swiftly and then stuck it out for more, still not saying a word. He filled her cup again and then Bronn stood and Cersei moved to his seat.

"Was he alive when they found him?" she finally asked.

"Don't know," said Bronn as he drank some more. "What I saw I told you. We found Ser Meryn. He hit the rocks and was a mess."

"Not a way a knight should die," Ser Preston commented.

"No, indeed not," said Tyrion, but he knew Ser Meryn was no true knight, a man who hit girls. Jaime had said the gods were paying him back and Tyrion had to agree.

Cersei was looking at Tyrion. "Is there any word from Harrenhal?"

"Ravens can't find us here," Tyrion said. "They would go to Pycelle in King's Landing. If he still lives."

"Pycelle," she said in disgust as she drank some more. "No doubt sitting beside Baelish on Stannis' new council."

"He is a maester," Tyrion reminded her. "He serves, does not follow."

"He followed father for years."

"I know. But if he lives he is under Stannis' power now."

"Then he will tell Stannis everything. He will know Myrcella is at Harrenhal."

"Uncle Kevan has already sent one thousand men to reinforce Harrenhal," Tyrion told her. "And the thousand with Ser Amory were to return there once they ran the Goat to ground. The Hound is there, Ser Robyn and his men are still there and the walls are high and thick. Myrcella is safe. No one will take Harrenhal."

She snorted. "You two took it, didn't you?"

"Aye, Your Grace," said Bronn. "But we got lucky. And only a few guards were there."

"I am returning to Casterly Rock," Cersei said suddenly.

Tyrion knew this was coming. "With the King?"

"Of course!" she snapped. The she stared at him hard. "You are no longer Hand of the King."

Tyrion expected it, and in his very drunken state he smiled. "Good," he said and that angered her.

"You failed the last King," she snarled. "I will not have you destroy Casterly Rock and my last son as well."

"No, I suppose that would not do. Tell me, Cersei, who will you convince Tommen to name as Hand?"

"Jaime."

Tyrion raised his eyebrows. "Oh, and Jaime will agree to this you think?"

"No," she said and then her demeanor changed and she smiled. "You will convince him to accept."

"Me? How? And better yet, why should I?"

She smiled in her sickly sweet way and he knew she had something up her sleeve. "If you don't I will bring formal charges of incompetence against you for burning the capital. You improperly stored the wildfire and your men were not trained properly." She looked at Bronn. "I suppose I should add your name to those charges."

Bronn had the sense not to reply but just stared at her and after a second she looked away.

"Now, dear brother," Cersei said as she stood. "Do what I ask and all will be well. Jaime must resign as Lord Commander. He must become Hand. He must come to Casterly Rock. Or I will see you and your pet here imprisoned or hanging from a gibbet. Your choice."

Tyrion grinned and then laughed and that angered her more but he was quicker off the mark and said what he had wanted to say for years. "You know Cersei, I have always known you were a cunt. How big a cunt, I never knew until now."

Her face turned red and she exploded. "You vile little worm!" she snarled and threw the remains of her wine in his face. She then turned and was gone and Ser Preston followed.

Bronn sat again as Tyrion wiped the wine from his face with a cloth. "More fun," Bronn said as he filled their cups again. "I think I will be gone by morning."

Tyrion snorted. "Fear not. She will be gone soon. She fears the loss of her last two children more than anything else. The last three Kingsguard will go with her to the Rock but Jaime will remain until the war is done. And he will never agree to be Hand. There will be plenty of time to run away later if needs be."

"Aye," Bronn said, but he brooded. "Blaming us for burning the city? She ordered the pigshit made in the first place."

"That's the trouble with Cersei," Tyrion replied. "She remembers things only as she wishes. Anything that doesn't fit into her version of events is easily forgotten. Especially if it would cast blame on herself."

"She _is_ a cunt," Bronn said and they both had a long laugh about that.

Later as Tyrion lay on a hard thin mattress of straw on the floor of his small tent they had salvaged from the first camp, Shae came to him and made him feel better. As they lay there afterwards, they talked on many things.

"What do I do now?" Shae asked him after a while. "Soon, your sister will know who I really am."

"Not to worry she is leaving soon for the west. You can stay where you are if you enjoy being Lord Varys' serving girl."

"It is easy work. And he is very funny. We laughed all day today. Many people come and go and he is busy but he is still making me laugh."

"What secrets have you learned?"

"None. He is good at keeping secrets."

"Yes, he would be," Tyrion said. "I wonder if he still has people in King's Landing."

The next morning at the commander's meeting, Tyrion's question was answered. Lord Varys gave them a long report on conditions in the city. Everyone in the command group was present except Cersei and Tommen, who were preparing to leave for Casterly Rock this very day. That was good, Tyrion thought. He needed to speak to Jaime and his uncle about her. Alone.

"The fires are out at last," Lord Varys said to begin. "About two thirds of the city is in ashes. The Sept of Baelor is gone, as is Flea Bottom, and most of the Street of Steel and many other neighborhoods. The Red Keep suffered some minor damage but still stands."

"And what of Stannis' men?" Ser Kevan asked. "Did they loot and rape?"

"Only a little, my lord," Varys told him. "They were too busy fighting fires, controlling the panic. As for Stannis Baratheon, he has moved into the Red Keep. Already has had a septon crown him King on the Iron Throne. Apparently his red woman did not like this but Stannis insisted a septon do the rites to make it legitimate."

"We need do the same for Tommen," Jaime said at once.

"When he gets to Casterly Rock," said Ser Kevan. He turned back to Varys. "What of Slynt, Pycelle, and Baelish?"

"No one knows what happened to Lord Slynt. He has disappeared, most likely killed in the chaos by the Iron Gate. Pycelle is alive and doing his duty for the new King, which mainly consists of caring for his wounded for now. Baelish is there as well, the master of coin for the new King."

"Traitors," growled Ser Gregor. "Both of them."

"Pycelle is no traitor," Tyrion told them. "He must serve whoever is King."

"I still call him traitor," the Mountain replied.

"Baelish, yes," said Ser Kevan. "But Tyrion is right. We cannot fault Pycelle. He is a servant of the Citadel and must do his duty for whoever sits on the Iron Throne." He turned back to Varys. "What news of his army and his plans?"

"His army is camped outside the city near the Iron Gate and near the Lion Gate, the bulk on the small plain between the Dragon and the Iron Gates. They are building earth works and other fortifications. He is supposedly bringing in many supplies by sea from Dragonstone and the Free Cities."

"How will he pay for it all?" Tyrion asked. "The realm was bankrupt and in debt to the Iron Bank."

"Baelish will find a way," said Jaime. "He always does. Or maybe Stannis will tell the Iron Bank to go to hell."

"They are not forgiving of debts," Tyrion observed.

"What of his plans?" Ser Kevan asked Varys, getting back to the main topic.

"Of his plans I know a little," Varys reported. "He has sent a small force to Rosby to accept their allegiance. I suppose Pycelle is writing letters to all the major houses asking for their allegiance. Oh, and he has the Tyrell siblings in King's Landing, under guard in the Red Keep. The Reach will not come to our assistance."

"If only we could rescue them somehow," Tyrion mused. "Then Mace Tyrell would give us the full support of Highgarden."

"Rescue them?" Jaime said with a look to his brother. "What a grand idea."

"Be my guest, dear brother," Tyrion replied. "I will never set foot in that city again as long as Stannis is there. He still wants our heads."

"And I want his," Jaime shot back.

"There will be no rescue missions," Ser Kevan said sternly. "I have great need of both of you yet."

"Cersei thinks not," said Tyrion. "She says Tommen no longer wants me as Hand."

"That is something to be discussed later," Ser Kevan replied. "Now, my lords, what are our options?"

"Attack," said Jaime and the Mountain almost as one. "They are hemmed into this narrow plain, by the Rosby Road," Jaime continued. "We can force them into the sea."

"Their fortifications will be strong," Ser Addam observed. "Not a place for cavalry. It will be a foot soldier's slog. And their ships will stand in and support them. It will be costly."

"Too costly," said Ser Kevan.

"Then we should strike at a gate," said the Mountain. "Break into the city and retake it and kill that bastard and let his men bend the knee to us."

"Ah…there is one problem with that," Lord Varys told them. "I have received some reports of illness in the city."

They all stared at Varys. "What illness?" Tyrion asked.

"A loosening of the bowels resulting in a bloody flux," said Varys. "It seems that thousands of bodies remain unburied and are in the rubble, causing the spread of the illness. The water storage areas are befouled and the people who have returned are starting to get ill. My lords, I think we should avoid King's Landing until this passes."

Tyrion knew illness could destroy their army faster than anything.

"Then it is apparent we are in a waiting game," concluded Ser Kevan. "We will not go near a city in the grip of sickness. Any civilians who come this way we must turn back. If they refuse…kill them. Ser Gregor, see to the orders at once."

"Yes, my lord," Ser Gregor said and left the command tent.

That was ruthless, Tyrion thought, but necessary. He knew his father would not have hesitated to give the same order.

"Lord Varys, is there anything else?" Ser Kevan asked.

"Just one more item. Apparently Robb Stark has married and the Stark host is moving up the Neck towards Moat Cailin."

"Do you think we should send Robb Stark congratulations and a gift?" Tyrion quipped.

"Yes," Jaime answered. "Along with my sword in his belly."

"One enemy at a time," said Ser Kevan. "Do you think Stannis will demand the Starks return to the field, now that he has proclaimed himself King?"

"Hard to say, my lord," Varys replied. "Ned Stark and Stannis Baratheon were cordial to each other but were never friends. And the Starks have enough worries in the North for the moment. I would say he will delay, rather than outright refuse. Others may not feel strong enough to refuse. The Riverrun lords may come to his aid. By now Stannis has sent out word that Joffrey is dead. The people will seek a new king. A king who has the Iron Throne."

"Then we must establish Tommen's new seat in Casterly Rock quickly," said Tyrion. "We need discuss that other matter now, uncle."

Ser Kevan told the other commanders to leave but asked Varys to stay with Jaime and Tyrion.

"This business with dismissing you, Tyrion," Ser Kevan began. "I think it is unwise. Cersei needs someone as Hand who is not afraid to challenge her."

"That she does not want," Tyrion answered. "She wants to run it all and have some puppet she can control as Hand."

"Who did she say she wanted as a replacement?" Jaime asked.

"Why you, brother," Tyrion said with a smirk and Jaime just groaned. "Has she not mentioned this?"

"No," he said with anger. "She certainly has not because she knows I will refuse. I have my position as Lord Commander and with the army."

"She actually asked me to persuade you," Tyrion continued. "Threatened to have me arrested for burning the city if I failed to convince you."

"She has gone too far," said Ser Kevan with some heat. "You are no more to blame for that than she is. Tyrion, you must go to Casterly Rock. You must take charge of matters there."

"She won't allow it and she will convince Tommen to replace me or arrest me," Tyrion said. "And frankly, uncle, I have had quite enough of my sister for the moment."

Varys had said nothing up to now but then spoke. "My lords, it is apparent the Queen has had enough of Lord Tyrion as well. If he goes west she may contrive some way to see him arrested as he fears."

"There," said Tyrion. "Even our master of whispers agrees with me."

Jaime was disturbed by all this, Tyrion could see, and came to Cersei's defense. "She is not well right now. She has lost her son and her father in a matter of days."

"That is what worries me," Tyrion replied. "She is seeking to blame someone, to lash out. I don't want to be around when that happens."

Ser Kevan sighed. "Very well. Then you will agree to be dismissed."

"Who will replace me?" Tyrion asked.

"I am sure she will name me," Jaime said. "And when I refuse, what then?"

"She will come to me," Ser Kevan replied. "But I will only take the position if she steps aside as Queen Regent."

That surprised the others. "She will never agree, my lord," said Varys. "Forgive me, but may I speak plainly?"

"You may," said Ser Kevan.

"By all means," Tyrion added. Varys looked to Jaime and he nodded curtly.

"I have watched the Queen for many years now," Varys began. "She despises the way she is treated because she is a woman. She desires power, but sadly for the sake of power alone, so no one can tell her what to do. Once she has this power she does not have any idea how to use it wisely. Power without purpose or direction is a dangerous thing."

"What do we do?" Jaime asked. "She is strong willed and will refuse anyone but me as the new Hand."

"We find her a new husband," said Ser Kevan at once and Tyrion quickly looked at Jaime, who just laughed.

"Better chance of Stannis' wife producing a son than of Cersei marrying again uncle," Jaime quipped.

"Your father had planned this already," Ser Kevan told his nephew. "He planned to wed her to Willas Tyrell, heir to Highgarden."

Jaime's face hardened into a grimace. "She will never accept a lame animal trainer for a husband." Then he stalked out of the tent.

Ser Kevan dismissed Varys and when he was gone Ser Kevan looked at Tyrion. "Tell me the truth, Tyrion. Are the stories about them Stannis has spread true?"

Tyrion stared at him. How to answer? Tell the truth and if Jaime and Cersei find out he was a cooked goose. Lie, and well, his uncle may believe him. Or he may not. A more neutral stance was needed. "You best ask them. It is not my place to answer such a question, uncle."

Ser Kevan nodded. "You already have. Thank the gods their father died before he knew the truth."

Tyrion did not deny it and therefore confirmed it even more. "She is out of control," Tyrion said after a moment.

"Yes," his uncle replied. "But she is going west and the war is here. She can do us little harm."

"She'll find a way."

"Maybe. Therefore, I need you to do something."

"Yes?"

"If Cersei does not want or nor need your talents I certainly still do. I need you to return to Harrenhal to take charge there."

That surprised him. "Harrenhal? Why?"

"Stannis may try to convince the Riverlands lords to rejoin the fight. Harrenhal is our only base there."

"I know Ser Edmure and the Blackfish. They will not rush to join Stannis. Especially not when our army is still in the field and we still owe them gold and have some of their lords prisoner at Casterly Rock."

"They still despise us," said Ser Kevan. "Stannis may also be feeling out the Dornish. And you know they have no love for us either."

"Apparently we are friendless."

"Yes. That's why I need you at Harrenhal."

Tyrion sighed and nodded. "I will go. Bronn and Shagga and the others will join me."

"Good. Take charge there. Let the Riverlands lords know we are still a force to be reckoned with. Keep the peace, but prepare for war."

"Of course."

"And by all means do not send Myrcella on the western road to Casterly Rock until we know what is afoot at Riverrun."

"I will keep her safe."

"Good." Ser Kevan stood. "I must see Lancel."

"How fairs he?"

His uncle's face clouded over. "Not well. The maesters have stopped the bleeding but a corruption has set in. He will be lucky if he lives."

"I'm sorry."

"Many other men have lost their sons in this war," said Ser Kevan heavily. Then he brightened a bit. "But I have had good news from the west with the latest dispatch rider. My son Willem has been ransomed from Riverrun. He is safe at home now."

"That is good news indeed," said Tyrion as they came out of the tent.

A long hour later Cersei and Tommen, with the three Kingsguards and one thousand soldiers, prepared to move west. Tyrion saw Jaime and Cersei exchanging words by her horse she would travel on. She was very angry he could tell but kept her temper in front of the rest. Tyrion approached the new king, who was standing beside a small donkey they had found for him to ride. Nearby were Ser Arys and Ser Mandon.

"Your Grace," Tyrion said with a slight bow. "You have a fine animal here."

"Isn't he grand?" King Tommen said with joy. "I wanted to name him Joffrey but mommy won't let me."

Tyrion couldn't help but laugh at the idea of an ass named after his hated nephew. "Listen, Tommen. You are the King now. You can name your donkey anything you want."

Tommen grinned, then his face fell a bit. "I am sad Joff has died."

"I know."

"He was my brother."

"Yes."

"But he was bad."

"Oh?"

"He used to do bad things to me and Myrcella."

"Such as?"

"I can't say," he said in a little boy's voice now. "I promised Cella I would never tell."

Tyrion felt a cold fury grip his stomach. "Tommen," he whispered. "Did he hurt you?"

The little boy nodded quickly.

"He can't hurt you anymore," Tyrion told his nephew.

"No, he can't" said Tommen brightly, his voice stronger. Then he whispered. "I think 'Joffrey' is a good name for a donkey, don't you, uncle?"

Tyrion could not help but laugh out loud and many people looked his way. "Yes, yes, indeed. Come, it is time to go."

Tyrion helped him get on his donkey. Cersei walked over with her horse to where they were. "Tommen, tell him."

Tommen looked at Tyrion. "I am sorry, uncle. But you are dismissed as Hand of the King." He said it formally, like he had rehearsed it.

"I humbly agree with you wishes, Your Grace," Tyrion said with a bow.

"Very well," said Cersei. "Ser Arys, Ser Mandon, go with the King."

Soon the three moved off and Cersei mounted her horse. She looked down on Tyrion with disdain.

"You have told Jaime I threatened you," she said, her voice cold.

"You gave me no choice," Tyrion replied. "He will never be Hand and you know it."

"And neither will you, ever again."

"I never wanted it in the first place."

She glared at him. "This isn't over."

"I know you hate me, Cersei, for our mother and many other things. Don't let your anger cloud your judgment. I am not your enemy."

She snorted. "Everyone is my enemy."

Then she turned and rode to where Tommen and his Kingsguard were. Ser Kevan came over and had words with her but Tyrion could not hear and cared not anymore. He was weary of her. She gave one more look to Jaime, said a final word, and then she ordered the column to move out and soon they were heading west.

Tyrion found himself suddenly relaxing. She was gone and he was going to Harrenhal. With luck he would not see her for a long time. I need a drink, he thought, and just as he turned, Bronn was there.

"Where have you been all morning?"

"Dicing with Timett and the lads," Bronn told him. "Lost some of that gold you promised me that I ain't seen much of yet. Do you have it? They like payment rather quick or I might lose a finger or two."

"I am sure I can find some to pay your gambling debts."

"Good. I see the cunt has finally decided to leave us."

"Yes, and good riddance."

"What news of the war?"

"All is static here. But not for us."

"Oh?"

"We're going back to Harrenhal."

"Oh, shit."

"Quite."

"And what are we to do at Harrenhal?'

"Make sure the Riverrun lords don't take up arms for Stannis."

"That doesn't sound so bad. So you are no longer Hand?"

"I have been let go by the King. Did you know he named his ass 'Joffrey'?"

Bronn had to laugh at that. "Might be he'll turn out to be a good little king."

"Yes, if his mother doesn't ruin him first," Tyrion said and then his face clouded. "Stannis still wants to kill him. Myrcella as well."

"Best we get to Harrenhal then."

"It will be dangerous. The road is long, the people hate us, and Harrenhal will have but a few thousand men. If the Riverrun lords or Stannis besiege us we will be in for a lot of trouble."

"Aye."

Then Tyrion looked at him. "Still like the color of your cloak?"

"Keep asking me that and someday I just might change it to spite you." Then he spat. "I need a drink." He stalked off and Tyrion waddled after him, chuckling the whole way.


	29. Chapter 29 Eddard

**Ned Stark Lives! Chapter 29 Eddard**

It took the Northern army three days of hard marching towards and on the Kingsroad from the Twins to reach the beginning of the bogs that signified the start of the area known as the Neck. No one was looking forward to this place, and most viewed it as an obstacle that had to be overcome before they could reach Moat Cailin and then home. The Neck's reputation as a fearsome place had some foundation, Ned Stark knew, but it was not something that could stop them. It was just different, and what was different often caused men to fear.

Swamps, quicksand, strange plants and flowers, poisonous snakes, and lion lizards all made the Neck formidable but not impossible to cross. The Kingsroad had been built up through the land over the years and it ran straight and true for most of the way, a raised ribbon of rock and densely packed earth that was an island in the swamplands. Stick to the road and few travelers had any trouble on the Neck. Wander off the road and then you were just asking for trouble. The only problem was how to march his now almost twelve thousand strong army along this narrow ribbon of road, and then take Moat Cailin by surprise.

As they made camp late in the afternoon on solid ground just south of the Neck entrance, Ned sat on his horse, with Robb on his horse beside him, looking up the road where the tall trees and ferns of the Neck bogs grew close to the road. They could already smell the fetid rotten vegetation stench of the place.

"If only we had a hard frost," Ned said.

"Aye," replied his son. "Then the bogs would freeze and the smell wouldn't be so bad. But we have to go up there. Coming down was easy. No one was in the way. Now…what should we do?"

"The Greatjon is already up there, almost near the Moat by now," Ned replied. "Roose Bolton is but a day ahead of us." Ned had had a long talk with Roose back at the Twins, mainly about his bastard son. Roose promised to set things right when they got home, and Ned finally agreed to let him try, but warned that he would have to step in and deal justice if Roose could not control his son and set things right.

Ned continued to discuss tactics with his son. "If the Moat fails to fall quickly, we will get stacked up behind those ahead of us and on that narrow road there is little fodder for our horses and oxen and donkeys. And little place to spread out and rest. I am thinking to keep the bulk of the army here until we can force Moat Cailin."

"We will need the shield shell up front for that."

"Aye. How goes the work?"

Robb smiled. "Best asked my little sister about that. She keeps a closer eye on things at the forge than I do."

Ned had to chuckle at that. His wife had told him about her conversation with Arya at the wedding. She was a bit mad at Arya for being so head strong, but at the same time she had nothing bad to say about Gendry anymore. If the gods will it, so be it, Ned Stark had said to himself once more.

"What do you think of him?" Ned asked his son.

"Who? Gendry?"

"Aye."

"I think he's a good lad."

"Lad?" Ned said in surprise. "He is the same age as you."

"Not after tomorrow," Robb replied.

"Tomorrow? Seven hells, is it your name day already?"

"Yes, Father," he answered. "I will be sixteen and according to the laws of the Seven Kingdoms I will be a man in my own right."

"You are already a man. A leader of men, a husband, and if the gods be good, a father soon enough."

Robb sputtered. "I have been wed but four days past!"

Ned laughed. "Aye. But she is healthy, is she not?"

Now Robb turned a bit red. "She is indeed."

"Good," Ned told him, and then got back to the original subject. "So, you think Gendry a good lad?"

"Aye. He's hard working. He's trying hard to fit in and be respectful. We know he's brave and strong."

"He gets that from his father."

"Funny, if King Robert had acknowledged him, Gendry would be king now."

"No," Ned Stark said solemnly. "He'd be dead now. The Lannisters would have seen to that. Best thing Robert ever did for Gendry was pretend he didn't exist."

"You have the right of it. Cersei and Joffrey have proven they will do anything to keep him on the Iron Throne."

Ned knew he was right, knew just how foul the false king and his whore of a mother were. How stupid was he to think to marry his daughter to him. "Thank the gods Sansa never married Joffrey."

"She hates him with a passion now," Robb said as he shifted on his saddle. "I think Sansa is also little jealous of Arya now."

Ned looked at him in puzzlement. "Sansa has eyes for Gendry, too?" Seven hells, that would be a mountain of trouble, Ned thought but his son soon put his mind at ease.

"No!" Robb answered swiftly. "Just, Arya has someone she likes. Sansa was going to be the Queen some day. Now, she seems a little jealous of Arya. And a little lost."

"Aye, I understand. We need to make a match for her. When we return home."

"Who do you have in mind?" Robb asked.

"I don't know. Your mother may have some idea. And she will definitely want a say in it. After the way Arya as been acting, I am sure she will pick some high born lord's son for Sansa."

"After Joffrey, any man will seem a prince in comparison."

"Aye," Ned said. "That was a mistake, having her betrothed to him. Some day he will pay the price for what he did to her."

As he said these words, Ned saw movement ahead, past where the outer guards we standing. From the area of the swamp came a party of men, crannogmen by the size of them. There were about twenty of them. The guards seemed a little anxious as Ned and Robb rode out past the camp border. In an instant Ned knew who the leader was and jumped off his horse and ran out to great them.

"My old friend," Ned said as he shook Howland Reed's hand and they clasped each other's shoulders.

Howland Reed was short and slim like all crannogmen. His brown hair was flecked a bit with grey and he had the moss colored eyes that most of his people had. His clothes were green and brown and he wore an armored shirt of bronze rings on leather, the leather being a rough type Ned knew came from the backs of the lion lizards. He and his men were armed with long bronze daggers, spears with triple points, nets, and shields. A few had bows and quivers of arrows.

"Eddard, it has been too long," said Howland Reed. "Now we meet again and it is war again."

"Aye," said Ned. "This is my son Robb."

They shook hands. "The new Lord of Winterfell," Howland said.

Robb shook his head. "My father is still Lord of Winterfell. Please address him as Lord Stark, not me."

"As you wish," said Howland. "But he will always be Eddard to me."

"Aye," said Ned with a grin. "Howland, come. Your two scouts you sent south are still with us. We will have food and ale and discuss the news."

They moved through the camp and many men looked in wonder at the crannogmen. All around fires were being built and tents set up and the supper prepared as night was coming on. As they walked through the camp they met Catelyn near where the Stark family tents were going up. Sansa and Jeyne were there as well but Arya was gone, most likely helping Gendry set up the forge.

"Lord Howland Reed," Catelyn said with a nod as he greeted her warmly. Cat had met Howland once, many years ago, briefly, as she traveled south to visit her father at Riverrun. After polite hellos, Ned told Cat that they had things to discuss and she let them be as she and the girls prepared for their own supper.

Soon Ned and Robb sat at an outdoor table with Howland and the other commanders as they ate and drank and discussed the situation up north.

"I ran into the Greatjon Umber three days past up the road a ways and Roose Bolton yesterday," Howland told them. "They said you would be coming soon so I waited."

"What is happening at the Moat?" Ned asked right away.

"The ironmen are isolated now," Howland told them. "Their two ships have departed. We think Victorian Greyjoy left with them. Only a few hundred men remain in the towers."

"A few hundred could stall us for a long time," Lord Glover observed.

"Aye," said Ned. He then told Howland about the plan to use the shield shell.

"A good idea," Howland replied. "But once they beat down the door you will need to get men inside the towers. The men holding up the shield shell and ram cannot do both. And they will be few in number and reinforcements will still have to cross the open ground to get to the tower you attack."

"He's right," said Lady Maege Mormont of Bear Island, sitting next to her tall daughter Dacey. "We will be slaughtered by arrow fire from the other two towers as we try to reinforce the tower attack."

"Then we must attack them all at the same time," said Robb.

"How?" Lord Tallhart asked.

"We must get north of the Moat," Ned said. He looked to Howland. "Can you get a force across the swamps and the river to north of the towers?"

"We can try," Howland replied. "Already I have some bowmen over the river there. The ironmen made a few sorties to drive them away but we fade into the brush and they don't pursue my men far. We just keep coming back. Their supplies are getting low and we keep their heads down by day. But we are too weak to drive them out."

"You and your people have done enough," Ned told him. "Driving them out is up to us. This is the plan. Lord Glover, Lady Mormont, you will take as many of your men as Howland and his people can transport through the swamps. Take mostly bowmen and a small force of infantry. You will cross the river and await our attack. Once we begin attacking one tower, you attack another, from the north. But do not press your attack. Make a demonstration at one of the towers. Have your men keep their shields high as your bowmen rain arrows. Draw their fire, confuse them, giving us time to reinforce the men with the shield shell once they break down the first tower door."

After discussing some detail they all agreed to the plan. "What will be the signal that you are to attack?" Lord Glover asked.

"A fire arrow, high in the sky," Ned replied. He looked to Howland. "How long will it take to get up north?"

"We have swift boats and know the ways. Three, four days at the most."

"That fast?" Robb replied. "It will take us longer up the Kingsroad."

"No," Ned said quickly. "Lords Bolton and Umber are already up there with almost three thousand men. It is enough for the main attack. The bulk of the army will stay here. We will take five hundred more men, all on horseback. Plus the shield shell and Gendry and his forge, plus a few supply wagons. We will move swiftly. We will make the attack in five days time. We leave at dawn."

There were a few more questions, and some more details to iron out and an hour later they were done and they all knew the plan. After it was done Ned asked the others to leave and soon he was alone with Howland. Ned poured him another cup of ale and they touched their cups together.

"For those who fell," Ned said solemnly and then they drank.

"Has it been fifteen years?" Howland asked.

"Almost sixteen. Robb's name day is tomorrow."

"He is your eldest?"

"Aye."

"How is the other boy?"

Ned knew who he meant and his face clouded over. "We should not speak of him here."

Howland looked at Ned, his face also serious now. "Eddard, my friend, Robert is dead. He cannot harm the boy now."

"The Lannisters would if they knew. He would represent a threat."

"What threat? Stannis Baratheon is who they worry about now."

"Stannis would also be a threat to him," Ned replied. "They would all want to kill him if they knew. I cannot allow that. I made a promise."

"A promise," Howland Reed repeated. "You have born the burden of this promise too long, my friend. Your wife should…"

"No," Ned said suddenly. "Never. It has been too long, and now it is too late. She would not understand. She has accepted it, she has believed what I told her. Let it be."

"And what of the boy?" Howland asked. "He should know the truth someday."

"Aye, someday."

"Where is he now?"

"The Wall. He joined the Night's Watch."

That surprised Howland. "Did he volunteer? Or did she drive him away?"

"He volunteered…he knew there was no place for him in Winterfell."

"It could have all been so different if you had told her the truth."

"Aye? You think so? And how long after I told her would she misspeak a word, let someone she thought she trusted know also. Then somehow, someway, Robert would have found out. And you know what Robert swore to do."

"To kill every last one of them."

"Aye. She…she didn't love him," Ned said and Howland nodded.

"She loved another. That would have killed Robert sooner than the boar."

"Aye," Ned said and he drained his cup. "Let us speak no more of this, my friend."

"As you wish," Howland said, and drained his cup and Ned thought their conversation at an end. Then Howland spoke once more. "Now I must speak to you of another son. Bran."

That took Ned by surprise. "What of him?"

"My son Jojen has had dreams of him."

"Dreams?"

"I have told you once about the greensight and the dreams some of my people have. Jojen has the greensight. He told me he had a dream of a wolf being chained and a three eyed crow that was trying to free it."

"My friend, you are talking in riddles. What has this to do with Bran?"

"Jojen said Bran was the wolf and he was the crow who must release him."

Ned still didn't understand. "Bran is not in chains, he is…"

"Crippled. Are these not chains?"

Ned sighed deeply. "Aye." His face grew angry. "I believe Jaime Lannister pushed him from that tower because Bran saw him and the Queen at their incest."

"A terrible thing."

"The Kingslayer will pay for it someday."

They were silent for a few moments and then Howland spoke again. "Jojen…he thinks Bran is special. He believes he can help Bran discover his hidden powers."

"What powers? He is just a boy."

Howland looked at him closely. "The news comes slow to the swamplands but we hear it all eventually. Tell me true, Eddard. Did not his direwolf save him from the assassin?"

"It did," Ned replied. "And when Bran lay on his sick bed the wolf howled night and day."

"Your children have a bond with these direwolves."

Now Ned sat up, his eyes intense. "Arya and Sansa…they said they had dreams of being with their wolves."

Howland shook his head. "Not with them. Inside them."

Ned felt a sudden coldness. He could not believe what Howland was suggesting. "No, that's impossible."

"Warg, Eddard. You have heard this word before?"

"Aye," he said, not wanting to believe it of his children. Wargs were legends, and every story of them told how the people shunned them and drove them away when it was discovered what they truly were. "How can it be? Why the direwolves and my children?"

"I know not. But it is. Jojen sees things that come true. He sees Bran…free from his chains."

Ned's heart beat faster. "Does it mean he will walk again someday?"

"No," Howland said and Ned's heart sank. "Jojen told me Bran will fly."

That shook Ned to the very core of his sensibilities. "Fly? Now I know that is impossible."

"I only know what Jojen told me."

"Has he had such dreams in the past?"

"Yes," said Howland. "They have all come to be what he saw, in some way or another."

Ned only shook his head. "I know not what to believe anymore. My friend, please do not speak of your son's dreams with any others. I would not want to worry my wife or other children."

"As you wish."

Ned knew he would never say anything. He hadn't said anything about the other terrible secret they shared for almost sixteen years now. He would never speak of this to any but himself.

Ned took a deep breath. "Your children are now at Winterfell, Maester Luwin wrote us. But that was more than a week past that we had news. Have you had any news from up north?"

"None since we learned Moat Cailin fell."

"There is trouble brewing up there, trouble I must deal with. The cold winds will soon blow and you understand what that means."

"Winter is coming."

"Aye. Are your people ready?"

"Yes. We have plenty of food in storage."

"Good," Ned stood and so did Howland. "Tomorrow we have much to do. I will find places for your men to sleep and…"

Then there was a clatter of noise from nearby and Ned and Howland turned to the noise. A rider was coming into the camp, in a hurry, past the fires, and Robb and some men met him. The man came off his horse and after brief words with Robb he was brought directly to Ned.

"Lord Stark," the man said, out of breath. "I have news from the south." Ned recognized him as one of the Frey bannerman, but could not place his name.

"Aye. What news?" Ned asked.

"Tywin Lannister is dead."

There was a long moment of silence as the shock of this set in. Robb final spoke. "Dead? Are you sure?"

"Yes," the man said. "The news was received by raven two days past from Lord Walder's deceased wife's family who live in Rosby."

"That would be Roslin's mother's family," Robb said.

"Yes, Lord Stark," the rider replied. "Your wife's family sent us word. A merchant from King's Landing buying fresh produce told them that Lord Tywin was assassinated in the middle of his army outside the gates of King's Landing. Lord Walder thought you would want to know immediately."

"Aye, and you and he have our thanks," said Ned. He looked at one of the nearby men. "Fetch him some food and drink and find a place for him to rest."

"Yes, my lord," the soldier said and then he led the messenger away. The commanders were soon coming back to the outdoor table as the news spread and all reacted in shock at the news.

"Gods," said Lord Glover. "If this is true it changes everything."

"No, my lords," Ned said. "Not for us. We go north and we go home."

"But, Lord Stark," Lord Tallhart began. "Our treaty with the Lannisters. They have broken it. They did not send the Princess. They planned to harm your family. We should go to help Stannis now. We can crush the Lannisters now, with Tywin dead."

Several lords voiced their agreements but Ned shook his head. "The death of one man does not change the situation, my lords. Kevan Lannister will take over the army. He will not panic, his men will not flee to Stannis like Renly's men did. Ser Kevan knows Tywin's plans. He will meet Stannis in battle. The Lannisters are still strong, with tens of thousands of men and the gold of Casterly Rock to buy more, plus the men of King's Landing. We have but twelve thousand men left here at the moment. The Freys and the men of Seagard have gone home. Three thousand more are up the road. Even if we turn around and march south, our supplies will not last a march through the barren Riverlands. Harrenhal is nearby the Kingsroad and could send a force to delay us. We have no way to communicate with Stannis. No, we will stay out of this fight. Our enemies are in front of us. Moat Cailin and the ironmen are our objectives. Winter is coming and home is waiting."

One by one the other lords agreed and then soon they went off to make their plans with their men for the next day. Ned found a place for Howland and his men to rest and finally went off with Robb to see his family. They found Catelyn, Sansa and Jeyne sitting at a table in the family tent. Robb's wife Roslin was there as well, chatting with Sansa and Jeyne. Robb smiled at her and went to sit by her side.

"Is it true?" Catelyn asked Ned right away.

"Aye," said Ned Stark to his wife as he sat as well. "Tywin Lannister is dead."

"The gods have been good for once," she said and then Arya burst into the tent.

"Is he really dead?" she asked at once and her brother told her it was true.

"Good," Arya said with some heat. "I hope Joffrey is next."

"How did he die?" Sansa asked.

"An assassin in the middle of his army," Robb told her. "That's all we know."

"Same as Renly," Catelyn observed. "How strange."

"Aye," said Ned. "But this changes nothing for us. Things remain the same. Tomorrow, Robb and I will lead five hundred men north. You will stay here."

Catelyn looked at him and he could see many questions on her face but she only nodded. "Whatever you think is best."

"It will only be for a few days," Ned said. "We cannot get the army stacked up behind us and delayed in the bogs. Here is a good spot for camp. We will send word when the Moat is free of ironmen."

"How long?" Roslin asked Robb.

"Five days. Maybe a week. Ten days at most," he told her and her face fell and Ned almost smiled at that. For newlyweds ten days would seem an eternity.

"Ten days is a long time," said Sansa, as if echoing Roslin's fears. She had a worried look on her face.

"You have enough supplies," Ned told them. "We will leave most of the infantry here to protect you."

"When do we leave to fight the ironmen?" Arya asked her father and her mother gave her a sharp look.

"You are not a soldier! You are staying right here, young lady."

"Aye," Ned told Arya. "This is where you belong, protecting your mother and sister."

Arya looked from one to the other. "But…the shield shell…Gendry…he will go with you?"

"Aye," said Robb.

"Then he needs my help," Arya said at once.

"No!" Catelyn told her again, this time with more force. "There are more than enough men to help him."

"Don't worry," Robb told her. "He won't be in the fight."

Arya's face turned red. "You just don't understand!" and then she stormed out of the tent.

"I don't understand," said Roslin, looking confused. "Gendry? He is the blacksmith, yes?"

"It's a long story," Jeyne said with a little giggle that Sansa joined in on.

Roslin giggled also. "Oh? Some gossip? I would like to hear it."

"Not now, ladies," Catelyn said sharply and looked at Ned and he just nodded, stood and went outside. He found Arya nearby, sitting next to a fire with Nymeria at her side. She was looking mad at the world.

He sat beside her and spoke calmly. "I can't take you. There is going to be fight up there."

"I can fight. You know that."

"Aye. But I need you to stay here."

"We have more than ten thousand men," Arya said, waving her arm in front of her wide. "They can protect Mother and Sansa and the others. No one will be stupid enough to attack the camp."

"So now you are a military strategist?"

"No. I'm not stupid, though."

"Aye. I suppose not," he said to his youngest daughter. "You understand that Gendry is needed to help us defeat the ironmen."

"I…I just don't want him to get hurt again. That's all."

"He won't be in the fight. Hundreds of men will be protecting him."

"I know," she said. "But…" Her voice trailed off and she couldn't say it and he knew what she wanted to say so he said it for her.

"You're worried. You care for him."

She looked at him, and her eyes were intense. "I…I do. I really do, Father. And…just…we've been together since King's Landing."

"Aye." And so much has happened between there and here, he knew.

"Promise me he won't be in the fight," Arya asked, her voice pleading.

"I promise. Now go off and tell him to be ready to move in the morning."

Arya grinned and stood and without even calling Nymeria, the direwolf stood and padded after her. Ned sat and watched them walk away and wondered on Howland Reed's words. Was there more to this direwolf business than Sansa and Arya were telling him? Then Robb and Roslin were coming out of the tent behind him and he stood. He wanted to ask Robb about his direwolf Grey Wind, which now came out of the darkness and stood by his side. Roslin gave a little start and grabbed Robb's hand.

"He still frightens her," Robb explained to his father as he rubbed Grey Wind's fur.

"I'll get used to him," she said, trying not to sound afraid.

"The direwolf is our sigil," Ned told her. "Your sigil now as well."

"Yes, my lord," Roslin said, eyes downcast.

"Soon we will be in Winterfell," he told her. "We shall have a second wedding feast for you and show you how we of the North celebrate."

"I shall look forward to that, my lord."

Ned looked at his son. "We have an early start. Don't stay up late."

Robb's eyes widened a bit and in the fire light he could see Roslin blush and then they said their good nights and went off to their tent. Soon Jeyne and Sansa went off to their tent after saying goodnight and Ned stood by the fire until Arya returned and he said goodnight to her as well. He took a long walk around the camp to make sure all was well, and stopped and chatted with some guards and finally returned to his tent. Cat was awake and waiting for him. They sat at the table in their tent and she poured some wine for him.

"What did Arya say?" she asked right away.

"She knows her place is here."

"Good," Catelyn said. Then she sighed heavily. "She said we don't understand. I understand. Every time you left me, to go off and fight the Mad King, to fight the Greyjoys, to go to King's Landing when Robert asked you, each time I thought it would be the last time I ever saw you. This last time it almost was."

"That it was," he answered heavily. He looked at her steadily. "I can't make you any promises, Cat. Tomorrow I go again. I may have to go again in the future."

"I know. I understand. But like Arya I still don't like it."

"Nor do I. But I must go if we are ever to see our home and our young sons again."

"Soon, if the gods be good, all this will be behind us," she said. "Did Howland have any news from Winterfell?"

"None. He knows his children are there. That is all."

"I still don't understand why they went," Catelyn said after she drank some wine.

"To pay respects for the harvest feast," he told her and he drank some as well, a sour red, but it felt good going down. He hated lying to her and often she knew when he wasn't so truthful but this time she just accepted it. Soon they were in bed and in each others arms and for another night Ned felt the safety and comfort of the woman he loved.

Ned awoke and he lay in bed next to Cat in the hour before dawn, thinking on the conversation he had with Howland. A promise to a dieing sister he made almost sixteen years ago was still on his mind, and maybe would never go away. He couldn't tell Cat, not now, not after so long. She wouldn't understand. Or would she? Would she know why he had to lie, to everyone, even to her? To protect Jon from those who wanted to kill him, not because of what he had done, but because of who he was, and where he came from. The danger did not go away with Robert's death. The Lannisters and Stannis would still try to kill him. And therefore he had to remain silent for some time yet, maybe forever. Only he and Howland knew the real truth, and he knew Howland would never tell a soul.

Ned heard his guards challenge someone outside the tent and then a moment later the flap opened. It was Arya.

"Father?"

"Aye?"

"Today is Robb's name day."

"I remembered."

"No, you didn't," Cat mumbled beside him. "Robb reminded you yesterday, he told me."

Ned chuckled. "So he did. What of it, Arya?"

"We should do something for him before you leave."

"Yes," said Cat as she sat up in the bed. "But there is no time to make a cake and I don't even know if the baker has any sugar."

"I know what to make," said Arya quickly. "Give me thirty minutes."

"Wait," Ned told her. "Have you had breakfast?"

"Yes, I've been up for an hour already. Practicing."

"Right," Ned replied. "Off you go. Thirty minutes, then back here."

Arya left without another word.

"Practicing?" Cat asked him, her voice betraying her puzzlement.

"Needle work," he replied.

"Needle…oh. With her sword."

"Aye."

"Where did she get that sword?"

"Mikken made it for her."

"Mikken. The Winterfell armorer?"

"I don't know any other Mikkens. Why?"

"He would never do that without your word," Cat said to him, looking at him suspiciously.

"I swear by the old gods and the new it was not me," Ned hurriedly told her. "The first time I knew of Needle was in King's Landing."

"Then who? Robb?"

"No…he never knew about it either," Ned replied. "I'm thinking it could only be one other person."

"Jon." She said his name without any emotion.

"Aye."

"Why would he do that?"

"Because he knows our daughter better than we do."

She snorted. "Carrying and learning to use a sword is not what young ladies do."

He sat up now, looked at his wife closely. "Cat, we may as well face the truth of this. We will never make a lady out of Arya, not in the way you would have it."

She sighed heavily. "I know. Sansa…she is already a lady. Arya…I despair of ever teaching her to be a proper lady."

"Then let her be what she wants to be, and she will love us more for it," Ned said. "She has the wolf blood. It is strong in her, like it was in Lyanna."

"I have feared this," Cat said to him, worry in her eyes. "She is wild, has always been. Jon gave her this sword because he knew she would love it, would take to it."

"Aye. He may have saved her life by doing so."

She nodded. "It is a strange twist of fate, is it not?"

He knew what she meant and nothing needed to be explained. "It is."

"And now she wants to run away to battle with you."

"No, Cat…she wants to be there because he will go with us."

"Gods. Is there any way to stop it, Ned?"

"I fear not. She may be too young to understand what is happening to her, but it is happening and she cannot help herself."

"It will be trouble in the future when the Frey boy comes to claim her hand."

"Aye."

"Then we should stop it…now."

"Could we?"

She was silent for a long moment. "Maybe not. She is strong willed. He is…I know he is honorable. He would go if we told him, would respect our wishes. But it would break her heart. Maybe his as well. Maybe…maybe we should just…let it be."

Ned knew in that instant she had finally accepted that what the gods had already decided would come to pass.

He kissed her and she smiled. "Come my wife," he said. "Let us greet the day and wish our son a happy name day."

She smiled again and then her face fell a bit. "And then I must say goodbye to him and you once more."

"But for a short time."

"Gods willing," she said and she kissed him and they held each other for a long time.

A half hour later they were all sitting at an outdoor table, having breakfast, all still a bit sleepy. All around them the camp was awake and eating and men were getting ready to move out.

"Where's Arya?" Sansa asked again as she tore a piece of bread from a loaf.

"Getting something, I told you," her mother said. "It's a surprise."

"There she is!" Jeyne said. "What's she carrying?"

Arya was coming toward them with a large platter. Ned saw on it were stacked many of the hot cakes like the baker's boy Hot Pie had once made for them by the Kingsroad.

"Hot cakes," Ned told them with a big grin and then Arya put the platter on the table.

"Hot cakes," Arya repeated with a big smile. "A treat a friend of mine named Hot Pie once cooked for me by the Kingsroad."

The hot cakes were in a neat stack and covered in strawberry jam. A stub of a candle had been put on top. Arya took a lit stick from a nearby fire and lit the candle.

"Happy name day, Robb," Arya said and everyone clapped and marveled at the cakes.

"How did you do it?" Roslin asked.

"The baker did it. I just explained how Hot Pie made them. Well, as best I could remember. I tried one. They're pretty good."

"It looks grand," said Robb. And then he blew out the candle and they all dug in and the hot cakes tasted wonderful, especially with jam on them. They had the platter cleaned in a few minutes.

"So, where's the rest of my presents?" Robb teased them as he licked jam from his fingers.

"Here," said Roslin and she kissed him on the cheek and Robb blushed as everyone laughed.

"In Winterfell there will be more," Ned told his son. "And we have to get there first for you to get them."

That comment ended the little party and soon it was time to go. Robb and Ned went off to dress in their armor and meet the other commanders. Soon Howland Reed and his men came and Ned and he shook hands once more.

"Five days time," Ned said to him. "Look for our signal."

"We will be there, Eddard, my friend. Lord Glover and Lady Mormont are bringing about one hundred fifty men, mostly archers. I fear we cannot transport much more than them and their supplies in our small boats."

"It will be enough for the demonstration," Ned told him. They made their goodbyes and then he had words with Lord Glover and Lady Mormont and soon their force went off towards the swamps behind Howland's men. After a while they disappeared from sight.

"Not a place I would wish to go," said Robb to his father.

"Howland will take care of them. Come, it is time for us to get on the road."

Lord Tallhart would be in command while Ned and Robb were gone and they had a few more words with him before they moved to their horses. On the Kingsroad, a column of five hundred men on horse was gathering. Behind them were several wagons with supplies including the forge wagon with Tim and Duncan and Gendry riding his horse beside it. Behind them were two more wagons carrying the parts of the shield shell that would be assembled when they got near Moat Cailin.

Gendry hopped off his horse and shyly approached where the Stark family was standing near their tents. Nymeria and Grey Wind were there as well, playfully nipping at each other.

"All ready?" Robb asked Gendry.

"Yes, my lord," Gendry replied. "It just needs to be assembled when we get there."

"Good work," Ned told him, clapping him on the shoulder. Arya was standing there, looking at Gendry, her eyes intense, as Nymeria crouched by her side.

"Don't do anything stupid," she told him. "Like get in a fight without me there to protect you."

He grinned. "I won't…my lady."

"I told you not…nevermind," Arya said. Her face was very serious now, and she barely whispered the next words. "Be good."

"I will."

She looked like she wanted to say more but her eyes started shining and one tear fell and she just turned and wiped her eyes and walked away fast behind the tent, with Nymeria by her side, leaving Gendry looking confused.

"Not to worry," said Catelyn with a smile to him. "I bawled my eyes out the first time Lord Stark went off to war."

"Yes, my lady," Gendry said, his eyes down.

"Be safe," she told him, and Gendry just nodded, as if not trusting his voice to speak.

"You as well, my lord," Catelyn said to Ned. She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and whispered, "I love you."

"And I you, my lady," Ned replied.

She tried to smile but couldn't and struggled to control her emotions and then moved on to Robb as Sansa hugged her father goodbye and Jeyne made polite goodbyes to Gendry and Ned as well.

"My son, my man," Catelyn said to Robb, still struggling to control her emotions. "Watch your father. Don't let him lead any assaults. He is far too old for that foolishness now. And don't you do it either. You are too young yet. And you have a new wife. Make sure you come back to her."

"Aye, Mother," he said. And then she hugged him tight, and Sansa followed, her eyes already full of tears.

Robb went off to talk to Roslin alone for a moment and she hugged him and was crying as he kissed her goodbye.

As Gendry and Robb and Ned turned to leave Arya suddenly came back and ran to her father and hugged him tight and then went to Robb and did the same. Then she looked at Gendry and hesitated.

"Go on," said her mother and Arya smiled and ran to him and leaped into the air and Gendry caught her and hugged her tight, and she whispered something in his ear and when he set her on the ground his face was very red and he looked like he was in shock. Then with one last good bye the three men climbed onto their horses, with Grey Wind following Robb. Ned Stark rode to the head of the column and gave the command to move out.

For a long time Catelyn, Sansa, Arya, Jeyne, and Roslin stood by the tent and watched the column move. When the last wagon was out of sight Catelyn spoke softly, "May the gods protect them now."


	30. Chapter 30 Stannis

**Ned Stark Lives! Chapter 30 Stannis**

It was a hollow victory, the Battle of King's Landing, and Stannis Baratheon knew it even before it was over. He stayed on the beach by the Iron Gate and watched the city burn for two days. His men tried to stop it, the people who fled returned and also tried to stop it, but in the end the gods did it for them with a heavy rainfall. By that time two-thirds of the city was ash and rubble, and thousands, perhaps tens of thousands, of its citizens were dead. Then in the days that followed an illness broke out, the result of the unburied dead. Stannis ordered burial parties to find them all and burn them in great mounds outside the city gates. But still the sickness raged, and now even some of his soldiers were ill.

"Tell me the numbers," he said to Grand Maester Pycelle as they stood on a balcony of the Red Keep, looking out over the destroyed city.

"Of sick, almost one thousand civilians, Your Grace, are still suffering. Some have recovered, many more have died. We are burning the dead as soon as they pass. It has not spread to the civilian camps outside the city. I think it wise to keep those outside away from the city until it passes."

"I have already ordered it to be done," Stannis told. "How many of my men are ill?"

"But a few dozen at last count, Your Grace."

"Separate them from the rest of the men."

"It has been done."

"Good," Stannis said as he turned around. He looked at the Grand Maester. "Tell me Pycelle, what is the cause of this pestilence?"

"I believe it is caused by the foulness of the fresh water supplies, Your Grace," Pycelle replied. "We have found dead bodies in the wells, in the sewers, and in the Blackwater Rush. But with the recent rains and our collecting and burning of the dead, I believe the illness will run its course soon. In the meantime it is best if we find a new source of fresh water for your army."

"There are streams and brooks near the Rosby Road," Stannis told him. "I will order the men to only use them for fresh water."

"That will help, Your Grace."

"Now tell me the numbers from the battle."

"Of dead, your army and navy lost roughly two thousand men killed, Your Grace," Pycelle began, reading from a scroll of parchment covered in figures. "Of wounded there are still 653 in my care inside the city. Several dozen died in the night, mostly those with severe burns. There is naught I can do for them but give them milk of the poppy, and my supplies are running low. Of missing, there are still more than 500 according to the information your commanders have provided. I am sure some of them are floating out in the bay and may wash ashore, Your Grace."

"These numbers are accurate?"

"As best they can be, Your Grace," Pycelle answered. "War is a chaotic, bloody business."

"There's no need to tell me that, Grand Maester," Stannis said in his grim way. "You did not include the cavalry that attacked the Lannisters."

"I'm sorry, Your Grace, but I have no information about them."

Stannis grunted. "They are gone, dead, or captured or scattered. Most of them were Renly's men to begin with. They played their part. Now we have few cavalry left. Do you know what this means, Pycelle?"

"I am not a military man, Your Grace."

"I suppose not. It means we are at a stalemate. It means that we must stay here and consolidate our position. Kevan Lannister will not attack fortified infantry. Both sides can bring in supplies from outside. Us from the sea, the Lannisters from the west. The advantage in this is ours. If this illness does not ruin us first, we will outlast them. The fall rains are coming and soon winter after that. The Lannisters cannot stay in the field in those conditions. And soon will we have more allies. Have you sent the ravens to everyone?"

"As you commanded, Your Grace. As of yet we have had no word from anyone."

"They will write. They will bend the knee. The false king is dead. They need a king. I am the only one left."

"Forgive me, Your Grace, but Balon Greyjoy still claims to be King of the Iron Islands."

"A pile of rocks in the sea," Stannis said with contempt. "We will let him rule his rocks until we are ready to make him bend the knee like he did to my brother a decade past."

"Yes, Your Grace. But…forgive me again, but what of Tommen Bara…Lannister?"

Stannis snorted. "Another false boy king. He will hide behind his mother's skirts at Casterly Rock no doubt, while his father and Ser Kevan and the Imp plan war on us. You will see, Grand Maester. The small folk and the high born in every corner of the realm will soon know I sit on the Iron Throne and they will throw their support behind me."

"Yes, Your Grace. I…I should see to the wounded. Can I be of service in anything else?"

"Just one thing. Has Ser Davos Seaworth been found?"

"No, Your Grace. The last report stands. His ship was one of the few lost in the royal naval attack. He was last seen diving over the side as it sank. A few of his men made it to the shore, including his son who served with him. But Ser Davos has not turned up yet. Ships are still combing the bay's islets and rocks for survivors. He may be found yet."

Stannis nodded and then took the scroll with the casualty figures and dismissed Pycelle. He marched inside his quarters, the former Queen's quarters. Now Cersei's clothing and belongings had been removed and his men had brought in the few things Stannis had brought on campaign with him. There on a dresser was the crown his brother Robert had worn when first crowned years ago. It had been found in a storage room on a shelf with some of Robert's swords and daggers and armor, and his massive war hammer he had killed Rhaegar Targaryen with. He knew Cersei had not kept these things for sentimental reasons. Perhaps she did not know of them or Joffrey had ordered the stuff to be undisturbed. But now the crown was his and he had used it in his coronation ceremony.

He sat at a table and poured some lemon water in a cup. He stared at it for a moment and then left it alone. He did not know where the water came from and if he got ill that would be a disaster. He looked to a shelf where Cersei had kept some wine and selected a bottle. He was never partial to wine and ale and mead, unlike his two brothers, especially Robert. He poured a small bit of yellowish wine in a cup and swallowed a small amount to drive away the thirst. It was the first drink of wine he had in many years, and he found he still did not enjoy the taste. Hopefully, the last drink of wine he would ever have. Wine weakened a man, made him foolish and slothful, like Robert had been. He called his guards and ordered them to find him some fresh water from outside the city, clean water, well away from latrine pits and dead bodies if possible.

Stannis sat again and looked over the figures Pycelle had given him. It grieved him Davos was missing but he would not show it. He needed a man like Davos at his side. Davos spoke plainly to him, unlike most of those who were under his command. He had been the one to suggest landing at the Iron Gate. His other naval commanders wanted to sail up the Blackwater, to directly attack the small royal fleet that was there. But when Davos insisted it was folly, Stannis asked him where he should land. One look at a map and Davos pointed right to the Iron Gate.

"Here, Your Grace," Davos had told him. "The beach is not wide but with the high tide the ships can get right in and land the men close enough for the men to wade in and hardly get wet. And we can bring in extra supplies and also provide cover for your landing."

Stannis saw right away it was a good plan. And so it came to pass and they landed and caught the enemy by surprise. The fight was bloody but they had been prevailing. Then the wildfire had exploded and his capital city was in agony.

He was standing on the beach directing more men towards the Dragon Gate to protect them from the enemy cavalry there when it had happened. The shock almost knocked him to the ground and then he knew the city was in peril. But there was nothing they could do as the fires spread. Soon the crowds inside overwhelmed the gold cloaks and the gates were flung open and the people fled as his men stood aside. He told his men to spare any gold cloaks who surrendered and surrender they did, in the hundreds. They found the body of Janos Slynt just inside the gate, crushed to death by the stampede of humanity who had fled the fires.

A long while after that, while he was directing parties to care for the civilians and to begin fire fighting efforts, four of his men came to the Iron Gate beach from the direction of the Red Keep, along the narrow shore there. They had been part of a small force he sent that way to make sure no enemy sorties came upon them by surprise from that direction. They had with them a body. At least he thought it was a body at first. But then he realized the person was alive. To his utter surprise it was Joffrey.

He was soaking wet and had no crown or helmet. His left arm seemed bent at an odd angle, as if it was broken and he was dazed and barely conscious.

"A present for you, Your Grace," said the sergeant in charge of the detail. They dropped Joffrey to the sand and rocks in front of Stannis. His men started cheering all around him. Shouts of 'kill the bastard' rang out from hundreds of throats.

"Where did you find him?" Stannis asked the men.

"He fell from the walls," the sergeant said. "When the big fire went off. He landed in the water and he came up for air once and then started sinking. He would have drowned, Your Grace, but we went out and got him. I think he broke his arm when he hit the water."

Stannis bent down and looked at this boy who called himself king. "Joffrey?"

Slowly the eyes opened and Stannis could see shock and pain there. As Joffrey saw who was looking at him the eyes widened in fear.

"Uncle?" he said in a weak voice.

"I am not your blood," Stannis said grimly. "I am no brother of your mother or father, the Lannister whore and the Kingslayer." He looked at the men who brought him. "Stand him up."

They picked Joffrey up and all the men cheered and more shouts came for Joffrey's head and Stannis could see he was trembling in fear. At that moment Melisandre landed from a small boat. She came right up to the scene.

"I foresaw this," she said at once. "You would defeat the false king and take the crown that is rightfully yours, Your Grace."

"He fell from the walls." Stannis said to her dryly. "Did you foresee that?" Stannis was tiring of her. She had killed his brother and Tywin Lannister with her foul arts. She had set fire to the Tyrell camp. He had agreed to it and all of it was necessary for his victory. But Davos had warned him that his men were whispering that Stannis could not win without her. He ordered her to stay on the boats as the battle commenced, and refused her offer to use some other foul trick. Now he was winning, winning without her help, and she showed up and began making statements to make it seem see had foreseen all of this.

She stared at him and smiled. The red woman was pale and fiery at the same time, a combination that made her seem beautiful, a terrible beauty at that. "No, Your Grace," she said. "I only knew he would fall. But victory is yours nonetheless. He must be burnt as an offering to the Lord of Light."

A great cheer went up as the men nearby heard this and Joffrey's cries for mercy were lost in the tumult. Stannis looked at the woman in red and then at Joffrey. He was no blood of his, but he would not subject the boy to the fire while still alive. No man deserved that. He knew she would be angry, but it was time to show his men who was in charge.

"Put steel in his hand," he commanded the sergeant.

"Your Grace?" the man said in confusion.

"Give him your sword!" Stannis shouted and suddenly all was quiet except for the whimpering of civilians and the crackling of the fires and shouts of fear beyond the city walls.

Melisandre touched his arm. "The Lord of Light demands this king's blood while he is still breathing."

"He is no king," Stannis growled and he pulled away from her touch and glared at the sergeant. "Do as I say or your head will be next."

The man pulled out his sword and handed it to Joffrey. Joffrey took it and at the same time Stannis drew his sword. While the sword was coming out of its scabbard he saw Joffrey snarl in rage and strike out at Melisandre. Her eyes widened in shock and Stannis knew she never saw that coming in her fires. His own sword just blocked Joffrey's blow before the sword hit her chest and then the duel began.

It did not last long. Joffrey was younger and weaker and hurt. He was less experienced and as Stannis beat him back with his men cheering, Joffrey's rage turned to fear and then terror. He had had years of sword training, however, and he countered Stannis' blows, until finally he was backed up by the walls of the city and what little power his body had left was gone and he knew he was lost, alone and without anyone to help him. Finally, Stannis knocked his sword from his hand and Joffrey fell to his knees.

"I yield!" he shouted and many men laughed.

"There is no yielding in this battle," Stannis told him. "Only one of us may live. Only one of us can be King."

"I am your blood," Joffrey said, his words coming out in a whimper. "My father was your brother!"

"You are no blood of mine!" Stannis shouted and then his sword swung and he put all his strength behind it and Joffrey didn't even move, knowing if he did not die by the sword he would die by the flames and the former was much preferable to the latter. The sword was glowing in the light from nearby fires and it was very sharp and bit deep into his neck and in a second the head was off and rolling on the sand. The body stayed kneeling for a second as blood spurted from the neck, and then it collapsed as well and a great roar of triumph rang from every throat that saw the death of the false king.

Stannis turned to Melisandre. "Now you can do with him as you wish."

She did. As his men put Joffrey's head on a pike and stuck it in the sand, she ordered a crossed pole erected and his body burned. She whispered to Stannis to stick his glowing sword in the brush at the foot of the Joffrey's body and he did so, going along with her bit of theater as she caused the brush to burst into flames. He still owed her much, he could not forget, and so he did what she asked once more.

Stannis ordered his men to begin building earthworks extending from the Dragon Gate to the sea by the Rosby Road. He put the civilians to work to help them. In the morning the army rested and fed on the growing mounds of supplies his ships were bringing in. Control of Blackwater Bay was complete. Then he sent the men in the city in force and full fire fighting efforts began. But they made little headway. It was only when the heavy rains came on the second night that the fires were finally extinguished. The whole time he expected the Lannisters to attack. He had found out his cavalry had distracted them but had not destroyed them, and then there was no more word from his cavalry. The scouts reported the Lannisters were in camp by the first bridge over the Blackwater, in a strong position. Stannis waited, to see what they would do.

On the morning after the fires were out, Stannis and a large force made its way into the city to the Red Keep through the smoldering ruins. They found the gates barred and the drawbridges up. He told them Joffrey was dead, that the gold cloaks had fled or surrendered. After a short while Pycelle game to the gates. He asked for terms, for mercy for the people inside.

"Open the gates and lower the drawbridges and you shall have mercy," Stannis told him. "Resist and we will slaughter every man and rape every woman."

A short time after that the way was opened. Stannis kept his word, and even hung two of his men who raped a serving girl. He allowed a bit of looting by his soldiers to satisfy them for the great effort they had made. Many homes were abandoned and many more destroyed. With so many dead and gone, personal property was left unguarded everywhere and his men gathered a substantial pile of loot. Stannis ordered any raw gold or silver and all coins brought to the Red Keep treasury but the men could keep jewelry, gilded plate and cups, or anything else they thought of value. In this way over the next few days Stannis' army gather a large sum of money from the ruins of the city. Littlefinger supervised it all and counted the coins as they entered the Red Keep's treasure vaults. There was some protest from some merchants and civilians who had remained but Stannis told them they had to pay for the rebuilding of the city and for the food his army was now providing them. After one of the more vocal ones was confined to the black cells for a short stay the rest shut up and scurried off to hide their valuables that had survived the fires.

After the gates to the Red Keep were opened, Stannis made his way to the throne room and immediately called together all the lords and ladies who had been hiding in the Red Keep. One of his men brought out a sack and produced Joffrey's head to the horror of those assembled. After it had been clearly established that the false king was truly dead, a septon was found and he declared Stannis Baratheon king of the land, crowning him with Robert's old crown.

Melisandre had been upset at his choice of a septon and she did not attend the ceremony. He provided her with lavish quarters in the Red Keep. Each night she came out into the main courtyard and built huge fires and her followers among his men chanted with her and prayed. Stannis knew the lord and ladies of the city were mumbling about this strange foreigner and her strange religion. Stannis allayed some of their fears by ordering plans to begin for the rebuilding of the Great Sept of Baelor.

That was three days ago, five days since the battle. Now that the fires were out, and much of the loot gathered, the great clean up began. Civilians and some of his men were clearing the streets of rubble. They were finding bodies and bringing them to the large piles outside the walls to be burned. More food began to arrive by sea and the people were happy with that. Pycelle and his assistants were doing all they could to stem the sickness and Stannis had a feeling Pycelle was right, that it would soon pass once the dead bodies were removed and the water supplies were clean again. The heavy rain had done much to cleanse the city already. But it would need rebuilding, and it would be costly. It was time to see Baelish.

They met alone in the small council room, and Baelish looked as dapper and as chipper as ever. Stannis wondered about the man, who had turned his cloak so easily. He was loyal to his coins and his whorehouses, and nothing more, Stannis decided. He would have to be watched carefully.

"Tell me the count," Stannis said as soon as Baelish sat with his ledger books. He opened one and turned to a page.

"We have gathered almost six million in gold from the city, Your Grace."

That sum staggered Stannis. "Six million?"

"Yes, Your Grace. The people of King's Landing had their money stuffed in the walls, in their mattresses, under their floorboards, in their pots and in every other place you can imagine. When the fires came and they fled most had no time to gather it. The six million is not all gold, but what I calculated the value of the gold dragons, silver stags, and copper pennies we have gathered are worth. A lot of it has melted into slag, but can be re-minted as coin. Actually, I think there may be more out there but it is still hidden in the buildings that were unharmed or the damaged ones your men have not had time to search yet. Also, when we approached the ruins of the Sept of Baelor the surviving septons vowed to curse all of us to a deep dark hell if we looted their coffers and your men backed off. At least the ones who believe in the Seven. There was some disagreement with the men who follow the Lord of Light, and then…"

"All my men have orders to leave the septs and septons be," Stannis interrupted him. "We will need them to help gather support from the Seven Kingdoms."

"A good point, Your Grace," Baelish stated. "May I make an observation?"

Stannis stared at him. "You may."

"The Lord of Light is not well-known in these parts," Baelish began, speaking cautiously, and then Stannis interrupted him.

"You need not remind me of that, Lord Baelish. You forget I am from here. I grew up with the Seven as my saviors as well as you did. Now stick to your coins and books and speak no more of this."

"Very well, Your Grace," Baelish replied, unabashed, as if he had not been rebuked at all. Either the man had ice for blood or he was so stupid to think he was indispensable to Stannis. "The six million will just about cover the realm's debts," Baelish continued.

Again Stannis interrupted him. "Joffrey's debts, you mean. Robert's debts. Not mine."

"I believe those the realm owes will not see it that way, Your Grace."

"If I recall from when I sat on Robert's council the Lannisters lent him much coin. They will not be repaid a single copper as long as their army is in the field and they refuse to bend the knee."

"That will take care of half the debt, Your Grace," Baelish said right away. "Another several hundred thousand is owed to some minor houses. I believe by repaying them soon we can garner their support more readily."

"They all should all bend the knee without such carrots being offered," Stannis stated.

"Indeed," Baelish replied. "I shall make this point when I offer a first partial payment. Now, the remainder of the debt the realm owes to the Iron Bank of Braavos."

Stannis snorted. "I suppose we must repay them."

"It would be wise, Your Grace," Baelish said. "Both late kings kept putting off this matter. I advised them that the Iron Bank rarely does not collect in some way or another."

"I know their reputation. Send word that we would like to make some kind of plan to repay them."

"Very good, Your Grace," Littlefinger said as he took notes in his ledger. "There is also the matter of payment to the merchants we have bought food and other supplies from in Pentos and Myr and Lys."

"Make some beginning payments to them as well to buy us time and keep our credit good."

"Excellent," Baelish replied, making more notes. "Then there is the cost of rebuilding King's Landing. Since we have confiscated much of the coin of the people…"

"The people who are dead or fled, you mean," Stannis replied. "We will foot the cost of repair to the streets and walls, sewers and wells. The Sept of Baelor as well shall have crown support. The rest are on their own. The more people who move away the better. This city has always been a stinking overcrowded morass. No more. Call some architects and engineers. I want some wider streets, more regular planning of city blocks. Those who rebuild must follow new guidelines. We shall also have more open space and parks. Start with Flea Bottom. It shall be a tree lined boulevard. That cesspool is gone and it shall not rise again."

Baelish looked a little disturbed by this news. "Did you own a whorehouse in Flea Bottom, Lord Baelish?"

"Several, actually," Baelish replied with a slight grin. "All gone now. A minor loss. Many of my businesses survived the battle and fire."

"See to the rebuilding, but no new whorehouses."

Baelish nodded as he took notes. "I will consult the builder's guilds and find a suitable designer for all your plans, Your Grace."

"Very well," Stannis said. "Let us move on to other matters. I need to form a new small council. You shall be master of coin. Ser Davos was my first choice for Hand but now he is missing so I must rethink this. Pycelle will join us. And we must nominate a new city watch commander. I have two or three men in my army in mind. Perhaps one of my wife's relations. Where is Lord Varys?"

"The word is he fled during the battle," Baelish told him. "Perhaps through the tunnels under the city."

"I had a report from some of my men that they fought some Kingsguard and the Imp in the tunnels. They thought Joffrey was with them. I think now it was Tommen and Cersei. Lord Varys would know these tunnels, would he not?"

"Most certainly, Your Grace. Perhaps he feared what you would do with his head if he had stayed."

"I could have used him," Stannis said, disappointment in his tone. "But not now. He certainly helped Cersei and Tommen and the Imp flee and is now with the Lannisters. He will pay with his head when this is over."

Baelish grinned. "Very well, Your Grace. I would also be cautious about Grand Maester Pycelle. For years he was Tywin Lannister's man."

"The Grand Maester is a member of an order that has no allegiances."

"True, Your Grace, but not all men do as they are supposed to. For instance, has he told you where Princess Myrcella is?"

"He has. And she is no princess."

"Did he offer this information or did you ask?"

"I asked," Stannis said in an irritated tone. "Lord Baelish, when I served on the small council while my brother was king you always enjoyed casting aspersions on other members of the council. Such muckraking is at an end. Whatever issues you have with Pycelle put them aside or I shall find a new master of coin."

"Of course, Your Grace," Baelish answered. "My apologies. One more point, if you please. Will you be needing a new master of whispers?"

"In time," Stannis answered and said no more on the subject. He hated spies but they had their uses and it was a pity Varys had declared himself for the Lannisters. Just then Pycelle entered the room.

"Forgive me, Your Grace. We have had a raven from Highgarden. From Lord Tyrell. I have not opened it yet."

"Read it," Stannis commanded.

Pycelle took a look at Littlefinger and then sat and opened the raven scroll. As he read he smiled. "Wonderful news, Your Grace. Lord Tyrell offers to swear loyalty to you. In return he wants his children released immediately."

"Good news, indeed," said Baelish. Pycelle handed the message to Stannis. He read it and handed it back.

"Write back immediately," Stannis said to Pycelle. "I will release his daughter once Lord Tyrell takes the field against the Lannisters. When they are defeated and the kingdoms are at peace I will release his son."

"A wise move, Your Grace," Pycelle said and then left to carry out his orders.

"Soon the rest will come crawling once they know Highgarden has bent the knee," Stannis said.

"Yes," Baelish replied. "Including the Starks."

Stannis stared at him very hard. "Ned Stark is no enemy of mine."

"Of course not, Your Grace," Baelish answered. "He is however, protecting your brother's bastard son."

"The boy is of no consequence," Stannis said in a dismissive way. "He is a bastard and cannot inherit any more than the other bastards of Robert's can."

"Joffrey thought he was a threat and tried to have him and the rest of Robert's bastards killed."

"Joffrey is dead and I care not what he did or thought now," Stannis said evenly. He stood. "We are done for now, Lord Baelish." And then he marched out of the room without another word.

As his guards fell in behind him, Stannis thought on Ned Stark again. They had never been friends, not like Ned and Robert had been. The first day he was in the Red Keep Pycelle told him of what had happened to Baelish, how he had been arrested and accused of helping start the war by whispering in Ned Stark's ear that Tyrion Lannister had tried to kill his son. Baelish had denied it of course and there was no proof, but it seemed both Ned Stark and Tywin Lannister believed it. And Stannis had it from several sources that Baelish had been the one to betray Ned when he tried to arrest Cersei and her children. Yes, the lords of King's Landing were falling over themselves to cast blame on Baelish. Stannis knew some of it was anger at Baelish for turning his cloak. But there was also most likely some truths behind it. One more reason not to trust Baelish too much.

Stannis also heard the reports from Pycelle about the ironmen on the Stony Shore and of ironmen at Moat Cailin. Balon Greyjoy trying to recapture the glory of years gone by with these piddling raids. The Starks would take care of his raiders. Ned and his men had reached the Twins, Robb Stark had wed and then they had marched north to fight the ironmen. The Stark host would not be easy to communicate with for several weeks as they moved up the Neck, fought the ironmen and made their way to Winterfell. But Stannis was confident they would get the job done. Then he had to decide what to do with Ned Stark.

He was a confessed traitor, but in Stannis' eyes he was nothing of the sort. He promised to take the black, but that promise had been made with a sword at his and his daughter's throats. The Starks had kept Tywin Lannister busy while Stannis' army dealt with his usurper brother and the false boy king, Joffrey Lannister. Stannis knew he needed Ned to hold the north. His son had done well in the battles in the Riverlands. They would make good allies in the years to come. He knew he must offer Ned a pardon and restore him to all his titles and lands. Robb Stark had a taste of being lord, if for a short time, but now he would have to wait until his father died before he became the Lord of Winterfell. But all this depended on Ned and Robb Stark expelling the ironmen from the north.

The rest of the day Stannis spent inspecting his army, visiting his wounded men, consulting with his commanders and reading reports from his scouts about the position of the Lannister host, which was unchanged. A few stragglers from the cavalry force finally made their way to King's Landing in a roundabout fashion and Stannis finally knew for certain that his cavalry was a spent force. Some of them had swung around to the north and came down on the city from the Kingsroad. Two claimed to see a long column of Lannister men marching north about five miles west of the Kingsroad, making for the Kingsroad. They estimated there were about two thousand men. Most likely going to Harrenhal, Stannis thought. A second report came that another Lannister force was approaching on the Goldenroad from the west. They were waiting for reinforcements before making their move, Stannis now knew.

But where would they move? Would they attack King's Landing, to recover the Iron Throne? And to kill him. That was a strong possibility. His army was in a strong position, but the city walls were lightly manned. But he could easily rectify that. The Lannisters could invest the city and a siege would begin. Some of his commanders said they should move out and meet the Lannisters in battle. Stannis told them no. A siege would work in their favor as long as the sea and the Rosby Road were open for re-supply. And soon Mace Tyrell would march, or he would never see his children again. When the Tyrells came down on the Lannisters from the rear, Stannis would then move out to battle them.

When Stannis returned to the Red Keep dozens of lords and merchants and others wanted to see him but he ignored their wishes and went to his quarters. He would have to have a Hand soon, to deal with these people and other minor problems while he took care of the war. After a long day at work Stannis retired, refreshed himself, and supped alone in his rooms. Then he put on a light suit of chain mail and buckled on his sword again. He made his way to where the Tyrell whelps were kept. He ordered his guards to remain outside the room with the other guards already there.

He found them at a small table eating their supper of soup and bread and drinking some wine. Loras stared at him with a sullen look while Margaery at least had the courtesy to stand and greet him properly.

"Your Grace," she said with a slight bow. "Good evening."

"Lady Tyrell," he said with a nod. "Ser Loras, how fairs your leg?"

"Better," Loras replied in a grunt. "When it is fully healed will you meet me in single combat?"

Stannis snorted. "I have answered you already on that matter. Let it be."

"Afraid are we?" Loras spat. "Or would you'd rather fight a thirteen-year-old boy with a broken arm who has just fallen from the city walls? Oh, yes, we have heard how you met him in single combat."

"Loras, please," his sister admonished him.

"Listen to her, Ser Loras," Stannis stated strongly. "Insulting me will only make life more difficult for you and your sister. The false king had to die, you know that well. His choices were a death by fire or a death with steel in his hand. I gave him the more honorable choice. No man can say I butchered him or dishonored him."

"No," Margaery agreed. "No man can say that, Your Grace."

Loras gave his sister a cold look and then looked away from them both. Margaery looked at Stannis and smiled. "What news of the war, Your Grace?"

"There is no news except this," Stannis replied. "Your father has agreed to bend the knee."

Margaery brightened. "That is good news, Your Grace."

Loras glared at Stannis. "He would never do so if we were not here."

"No, he would not," Stannis replied. "But that is the situation and he has agreed to swear loyalty to me. Lady Tyrell, you shall go home as soon as your father's army takes the field."

"What army does my father have?" Loras said in disdain. "Your red whore saw that it was destroyed."

"Not all," Stannis replied, ignoring the insult to Melisandre. "Your father can muster great strength yet. He will help me defeat the Lannisters and their new false king. Then you will go home, Ser Loras."

"New king…oh, Tommen," said Margaery.

"Another false boy king," Stannis told her.

"Will you meet him in single combat as well?" Loras asked in a mocking tone.

Stannis tired of this. "Good evening."

As he was just outside the doors Loras shouted at his sister. "How can you grovel to him when you know very well he had Renly killed?"

Stannis paused. "Renly is dead, dear brother," he heard her tell her brother. "We are alive. Please take care of your tongue around the King. He is not known for forgiving men who insult him."

Stannis almost grinned at that comment. She was wise this one, wiser than her brother, who was still full of anger. Anger for being a prisoner, and anger for Renly's death. Unlike Robert, Stannis knew what their younger brother was. Stannis had found out by chance. He had seen Loras coming from Renly's quarters one morning years ago in the Red Keep. At the door Loras had given Renly a kiss that was a lover's kiss and Stannis knew the truth. He had been aghast and disgusted at first. He fought an internal battle with himself, whether to confront Renly or tell Robert or do both. But in the end he let it go, for what love he had for his younger brother, and it had been one of the hardest things he had ever done. And for this Renly repaid him by claiming what was his and by spurning his attempts to end their war. As he thought on the parley they had had Stannis remembered the peach again and it still vexed him and he did not know why.

And then he remembered the red woman, asking him if he wished her to take care of his problem with his brother. For a long moment Stannis had said nothing and then he nodded just once. A few days later and Renly was dead. And then she had used her powers to light the grey mist afire and panic the Tyrell army. How she did it he never asked. Then once more she used her power to kill, and Tywin Lannister had died. Ser Davos had rowed her across the Blackwater and back. She had been the one who said he needed to make a parley with Lord Tywin and she insisted on being there. Now he knew something, or suspected it. She had to meet the person in order for her powers to work. And water was an obstacle to her power. As he drifted off to sleep that night Stannis thought on what she had done and wondered, not for the last time, if he had made a pact with some demon from hell, not a servant of the Lord of Light.

The next morning as Stannis ate his breakfast in his rooms he received a raven message from Dragonstone. It was from his wife congratulating him on his victory, claiming R'hllor was guiding him. And she asked when she and their daughter could come to King's Landing. Not till the war is over, Stannis thought. As he thought on a reply his guards told him Lady Melisandre wished to see him.

"She may enter," he replied and stood as the red woman entered his chambers. She was as she always was, dressed in red, still pale and beautiful and he could feel the heat from her when she was still several feet away.

"Good morning, Your Grace," she said and he bid her to sit and she took the chair opposite him.

"Have you broken your fast?" he asked.

"Yes, Your Grace," Melisandre replied. She looked at him steadily. "You have missed the evening prayers the last three nights, Your Grace."

"I have been busy. War does not leave me much time for other things."

"We must pray even when we feel tired, Your Grace. Your victory has been great. But it is incomplete."

"There is no need to remind me of that."

"The boy king is dead, but there is another. And the kraken still calls himself king."

"You claimed he would not be long on his seastone chair."

She smiled. "I did. In time he will fall as the false king did."

"And the new boy king?"

Her face turned grim. "Him I cannot see in my fires. Not yet anyway."

Stannis thought he knew what that meant. She would see Tommen and she would know what would happen to him only when he agreed to something she wanted. Now what will she demand? He must choose his words carefully. Stannis knew her power was great. She had helped him defeat his enemies. Now she will demand her payment. "You have been most helpful in securing my crown."

"I only do R'hllor's bidding," she replied. "It is time to spread his word to the Seven Kingdoms."

That was expected. "It will be done as I promised," Stannis told her. "But not now."

"I understand," she answered. "The people will worship their seven gods and they will cling to them. But these seven gods will not bring them salvation from the danger that will come. Only the one true god, R'hllor, can save them, as it has saved you."

"It is too soon. I need their support for the battles to come."

"Yes. The Lord of Light will be patient. But, King Stannis Baratheon, First of Your Name, the day will come when you must declare R'hllor as the one and only true god of the Seven Kingdoms. Only then will your crown finally be secure."

"The people will resist."

"Then we shall make a few examples of some lords and ladies. When the people see them screaming in the fires they will agree to take R'hllor into their hearts as you have."

"That still will not stop them from worshiping, in secret at least," Stannis replied. "I know these people. You do not. The Seven have been here for ages, yet many people of the north still worship the old gods. The Starks…"

"Shall worship R'hllor or they will burn," Melisandre said strongly and he swore for a second he saw fire in her eyes.

Before Stannis could reply a knock came to his door. "Yes?" he shouted impatiently. Pycelle entered in his slow ponderous way. He blanched when he saw Melisandre. She smiled at him.

"Grand Maester," she said pleasantly. "What news?"

He ignored her and turned to Stannis. "Your Grace, Ser Davos has been found. He is alive."

Stannis stood at once. "Take me to him." Melisandre stood and seemed ready to follow. "I need speak with him alone."

"As you command, Your Grace," she replied and sat down again.

As Stannis and Pycelle walked Pycelle explained that Ser Davos was found on a small group of rocks in Blackwater Bay and he was very dehydrated and malnourished, but otherwise unharmed.

Ser Davos was sitting up in a bed in a chamber nearby where many wounded men were being kept. He struggled to rise when Stannis and Pycelle entered.

"Stay still," Stannis commanded him and Davos remained as he was.

"Your Grace," Davos spoke, in a weak voice. "I heard you have won a great victory."

Stannis snorted. "Not so great. The city is badly damaged and the Lannisters are still in the field."

Davos nodded. "Your Grace…my sons?"

"All have survived the battle," Stannis told him and Davos took a great breath of air and sank into his bed.

"The gods have been good," Davos said, his eyes closed for a moment and Stannis supposed he was saying a small prayer. When he opened his eyes he looked directly at Stannis, his eyes now more alive than before. "I would like to see them."

"Grand Maester," Stannis said to Pycelle, who was standing behind him. "Find his sons and tell them their father lives and bring them here."

"I believe some are still on the bay looking for him," Pycelle replied. "But I will see if any are in the city or nearby."

After Pycelle left, Stannis and Davos talked for a while. Stannis explained all that had happened while Davos remained mostly silent. Only after a while did Stannis notice that the pouch Davos had carried for many years with the ends of his fingers in it was missing from around his neck.

"I lost it in the bay," Davos explained after Stannis asked about it. "My luck is gone."

"Your luck is good, ser," Stannis replied. "You are alive. Many men are not. When will you be better?"

"A day or two at most," Davos replied.

"Good. I will name you Hand of the King Ser Davos Seaworth."

"Your Grace, I am honored, but I am not worthy. Your wife's family, they will see this as an insult. Perhaps Ser Axell or another should be Hand."

Stannis grunted. "Those fools wanted my navy to sail up the Blackwater Rush. You had the right of it. No, you will be Hand. Rest, ser, and then you will help me plan how to destroy these Lannisters and their new boy king."

Stannis left him then and then made his way to the small council room where a meeting was scheduled with Littlefinger. He found the master of coin already present.

"Your Grace," Baelish said as he stood and bowed. "I have heard Ser Davos has been found. How fortunate."

"Yes. He will join us when he is better. Sit," Stannis told him. When they were both seated Stannis said one word. "Begin."

"First item, Your Grace, payment to Sallandor Saan. He claims he did his part in the battle and now wants what is owed."

"Can we afford it?"

"If you plan to never repay the Lannisters, then most certainly."

"Very well. Pay this pirate what is owed. But remind him that piracy is illegal and if I catch him attacking ships on the high seas near the Seven Kingdoms I will have his head, no matter what service he did for us in the past."

"I shall remind him. Second item, your Kingsguard."

"I don't need one. My guards are enough. And the Kingsguard did little to help the Mad King, Robert, or Joffrey. If you forget your history Lord Baelish, need I remind you why Ser Jaime Lannister is called the Kingslayer?"

"No, Your Grace, but the people still hold to traditions. And your life will always be in danger while you sit on the Iron Throne."

There he goes again, telling me the obvious. But this time Stannis let it go. And perhaps he was right, he should keep some traditions. There was but one man he would trust to form a new Kingsguard. "Where is Ser Barristan Selmy?"

"No one knows, Your Grace. When Joffrey dismissed him, he left the city and no word has been heard of him since."

"He would make a fine commander of a Kingsguard," Stannis commented. "Let us leave this for now. Next item."

And so it went, for about an hour, and finally Baelish was done and went off to carry out Stannis' orders. Then he met with his army commanders and heard all the reports and was glad to learn that the illness had not spread any further in the army.

After his lunch Stannis came to the throne room. He stood for a long time at the base of the dais, looking at the Iron Throne. Someone entered the room behind him.

"Your Grace, you wished to see me?"

"Yes, Master Mott," Stannis said as he turned. "I want to discuss the boy Gendry."

"He is gone, Your Grace," Master Mott replied. "He left over a moon's turn ago."

"Why?"

Mott gulped. "I was told his life was in danger. King Joff…"

"The false king," Stannis said sharply. "Never forget that."

"No, Your Grace. The false king wanted him dead."

"Who gave you this warning?"

"A man in disguise, but I believe it was Lord Varys."

"Not surprising," said Stannis. "I suppose Ned Stark had a hand in this."

"I know not, Your Grace. I was told by this man, maybe Lord Varys, that the boy's life was in danger and he had to leave the city. The man told me to tell him the Night's Watch was looking for recruits by the Mud Gate and if he wanted food and a new home he best go there."

"Good thing you did," Stannis told him. "The false king truly wanted him dead. You know why?"

"I mind my business, Your Grace."

"Are you telling me you did not know Gendry was my brother Robert's bastard son?"

Mott hesitated and Stannis could see he was nervous. "Calm yourself man. I only want the truth. You remember I came to your shop with Lord Arryn and saw the boy?"

"Yes, Your Grace. After that I knew who he was, for certain. I had suspected in the past."

Stannis nodded. "He is Robert's oldest son. A true son, of his blood, despite being a bastard, not like these Lannister whelps his whore of a wife bore. It seems right Gendry should be a smith. Was he good at his work?"

"Yes, Your Grace, very good. He was a bit stubborn, and did not get on well with the other apprentices. But he was skilled and had great strength."

"Strong and stubborn, like his father," Stannis said. "It may please you to know he still lives and is with the Starks heading to Winterfell, the last I heard."

"That is good news, Your Grace."

Stannis then walked up to the Iron Throne, stood beside it and looked down on Mott. "Come up here, Mott."

Stannis thought Mott's eyes would popped out of his head he was so surprised. After some hesitation he climbed up the steps and stood in front of the throne, making sure he was on a lower step, his head below Stannis' head.

"What do you see here?" Stannis asked him.

"The Iron Throne, Your Grace," he said as if it was obvious.

"Yes, the Iron Throne, the seat of all power in the Seven Kingdoms. But I also see a chair," Stannis replied and the shock on Mott's face was obvious. "An uncomfortable chair. I plan to sit on it for a long time."

"The gods be good, Your Grace."

"Are you the best armorer in King's Landing?"

Now Mott's eyes lit up. "The best, Your Grace." Then his face fell a bit. "But my home and shop were destroyed by the fires. Some of my apprentices are dead as well."

"Do you still have your tools?"

"Some, Your Grace. I will get more."

"Then I have a new job for you."

"A new suit of armor perhaps? A sword? I…"

"No. This." He pointed to the Iron Throne. "Make it more comfortable."

Mott stared at him uncomprehending. "Your Grace? It is the Iron Throne. I could not…"

"You will and you shall," Stannis told him in his stern way. "I plan to sit on it for a long time. Beat the barbs off it, smooth out the rough edges of these ancient swords, do whatever it takes. Do this for me and I will restore your shop and find you new apprentices. Make it a better throne, Mott. The time of old and false kings is over. It is time for a new beginning in the Seven Kingdoms. And it starts right here."


	31. Chapter 31 Robb

**Ned Stark Lives! Chapter 31 Robb**

Moat Cailin was an island in a bog, three islands for that matter, and as Robb Stark looked at it from the Kingsroad on the edge of the swamp he knew it was going to cost men to take it. Three towers stood up from the mud and water, the thin ribbon of the Kingsroad, covered in logs and planks, running between them. The three towers were all that remained of a once great fortress built thousands of years ago. Legend said it once had twenty towers, a great keep, deep moats, and a high curtain wall. The moats were mostly gone, filling in over the years with mud and falling blocks from the walls and former towers. All except the three towers lay buried in the mud, with some massive blocks of stone still sticking up here and there.

The secret of Moat Cailin was not these towers but the men who manned them. If they had sufficient archers and crossbowmen they could easily defend the place. The towers had many windows and arrow slits and battlements on top where men could stand and rain fire down on those who struggled up the plank road or across the muddy fields. Each tower could cover the others if they were assaulted. An army coming from the south could not assault all three towers at once without being buried in a storm of arrows. The bogs and mud and water between the towers would prevent them from attacking from many sides at the same time. Supposedly there were snakes and lion lizards out there as well, but Robb could see none of either. It mattered not if they were there, as snakes could not bite through armor and lion lizards could be killed as well as any man. No, the real danger was from the towers, and they would be hard to crack.

All movement had to be up the Kingsroad except for the small paths that made their way to the tower doors, and they were often underwater, and muddy at the best of times. One good thing was that the water levels were down, there having been no rain recently. During their five day trip up the Kingsroad it had not rained once. The paths to the towers were visible, but still looked very muddy.

The Drunkard's Tower was closest to them, the furthest south, west of the Kingsroad. It was leaning badly and looked like it would fall at any moment, but Robb knew it had been that way for hundreds of years and hadn't fallen yet. The Children's Tower was further north and still west of the Kingsroad. It was tall and slender but its top looked like a bite had been taken from it, the battlements badly damaged, the upper floors exposed. The third tower, the Gatehouse Tower, was half way between the Children's Tower and the Drunkard's Tower, but on the east side of the road. It even had some of the old curtain wall remaining. Robb knew it well, having spent several days there when his army had moved south. It was where his mother had found him after her misadventures in the Vale.

It was dawn and as the sun was rising and the morning fog was burning off, he could also see the remains of failed attacks. Dead men, rotting in the mud, lay out there by the dozens and the tens of dozens. Arrows stuck out of most of the bodies and out of their dead horses as well. Robb could see how the attack happened in his mind, armored men trying to run through the mud, their feet and legs getting stuck, their movements slow, even the horses having trouble, and then the arrows came down on them. A trail of dead bodies extended from the Kingsroad to the Drunkard's Tower, getting fewer as they reached the bit of dry land around the tower, with the last just short of the tower door, killed as he at last reached his objective. Most of them were Karstarks, Robb knew, ambushed as they tried to make their way home. He felt a twinge of guilt for that, and voiced his feelings to his father, sitting on his horse beside him.

"I should have found a way to make peace with Lord Karstark."

"We both should have," Ned Stark told his son. As they sat on their horses, a shout came from the nearest tower, the Drunkard's Tower, off to the west a bit from the Kingsroad. The voice was faint but they could make out the words.

"Come for more, have you?" came the shouted question across the fields of mud and then an arrow came from the top of the tower. Robb and Ned watched it land not ten yards from where they were.

"We are out of range here. Let him waste arrows," Ned growled.

"Let's see if he'll fire any more," Robb said. He shouted back to the tower. "I heard all ironmen are cravens!"

That brought five more arrows and shouted threats to geld all Starks. All the arrows fell short as well, but Robb knew they would find their mark if anyone got closer to the tower. And closer they would have to get because the Kingsroad ran close by it. Armor would protect them somewhat but would also slow them, making them easier targets and at close range arrows could punch through armor. Crossbow bolts were even deadlier, having more punching power, but crossbows were also slower to reload. Most of the Stark men wore chain mail, being both stronger than leather armor and lighter than plate armor. Most also had shields, of stout oak and layered with copper and even steel in some of the more elaborate ones.

"Come, it is time to make plans," Robb's father said suddenly.

They turned their horses around and rode back to where almost four thousand men were strung out on the Kingsroad. The trees and tall grasses of the swamps came close to the road here and screened their actions from the nearest tower. The road was packed and only a narrow path existed for the horses to walk. Men were cooking breakfast over small fires, and many rose and dipped their heads in respect as Robb and Ned passed. Further on were many archers, preparing their bows and arrows for what was to come. Other men sharpened swords, or fixed their armor and shields, grim looks on their faces. Finally they came to the forge wagon, where Gendry and the men helping him were assembly the great shield shell. Grey Wind was there as well, tied to the forge wagon and he was growling at all. Roslin's brother Olyvar was there as well, with strict instructions to keep Grey Wind in hand. The boy was used to Grey Wind by now and Grey Wind was used to him so Robb expected no trouble there. Robb didn't like it, but he knew Grey Wind would follow him anywhere and he didn't want Grey Wind charging after him if he went into the attack. Arrows could kill his direwolf just as easily as any man. Olyvar had wanted to be in the attack as well, but Robb gave him a sharp look and told him he could never face Roslin if he let her brother die.

Roose Bolton, the Greatjon Umber, and the other commanders were waiting for them. Further down the road Robb could see the long lines of horses and men and wagons, waiting for the assault to begin

"The ironmen are awake," Ned told the commanders.

"Good," said the Greatjon. "Soon they will be asleep again."

Three days he had sat here in frustration, Robb knew. The crannogmen who Howland Reed sent to help the Greatjon told Robb and Ned when they arrived the evening before that the Greatjon had wanted to rush the towers at once. Only when he got a good look at the ground and saw the dead Karstarks out there, rotting in the mud, did he relent and follow the crannogmen's advice to wait.

Roose Bolton looked over at the shield shell. "Our men have not trained with it," he said in his quiet voice.

"Aye," said Robb, worrying about that as well. "Maybe we should wait a day and give them some practice, carrying it at least."

"Wait a day!" roared the Greatjon. "These sons of whores have already kept us from our homes long enough!"

Robb looked to his father and could tell he was troubled as well. "It is the fifth day since we spoke with Howland Reed. Lady Mormont and Lord Glover are over there by now, to the north by the Children's Tower. They are waiting for us to begin. We can't delay any longer."

"We should delay for a few hours at least," Robb suggested. "To give the assault force some time with the shield shell."

"Agreed," said Lord Bolton and the Greatjon growled his agreement as well.

"We attack the Drunkard's Tower first," Robb's father said. "I know the limit of their arrow range but a bit further up the Kingsroad passes too close under it, with the other two towers close by." Ned knelt down and began to draw with his dagger in the dirt of the road. "The three towers," he said as he drew. "The Drunkard's Tower door faces towards the Children's Tower and the Gatehouse Tower. Our men must go up the Kingsroad a bit and then turn to the west here on this path. It is above water now but will be very muddy and the going slow." He looked to the Greatjon. "The ram is ready?"

"Aye," said the Greatjon. "Through I wasn't expecting this shield shell. The men carrying the ram will have to be under that thing and carry it as well."

"It will be cumbersome," observed Roose Bolton.

"Aye," said Robb. "But we have no other way to take the Moat without losing too many men."

No one had a better idea and so they proceeded. Robb went off to help Gendry and the men helping him. The young smith was sweating and his black hair hung before his blue eyes as he swung his hammer and drove some nails into the shield shell. They had the shields all nailed together with thick leather straps connecting them. Many of the shields had been round or oval and Gendry and Tim and Duncan had done as much as they could to square them off but there would still be gaps where arrows might get through. All of the assault force they had selected would wear plate armor. It would be heavy and cumbersome in the mud, but it would keep them safe, especially when they broke the door and assaulted the tower's occupants.

Robb had wanted to go with them, but his father had put an end to that idea and Robb, remembering his mother's words, reluctantly agreed. The Greatjon would lead them, it was decided the night before, and then the surviving leader of the Karstarks would lead the secondary follow up wave. He had but forty men left, and they had been here for many days now, their frustrating building as they waited for this moment. All wanted to be part of the assault, and Robb's father finally relented and said they would make up the first wave of the secondary assault force that would reinforce the shield shell assault force. Robb felt that this force would lose heavily, but the Karstark men had fire in their eyes and wanted revenge and he and his father could not refuse them. Nothing was said of what had happened at Riverrun, and if any of these men survived Robb knew he would remove the punishment of isolation that he had imposed on their homeland.

An hour later and the shield shell was ready. It was eight shields wide and ten long, with further shields hanging from the sides, the back, and front. Gendry had not connected the two middle front shields to those on their sides, so that the ram could be pushed through when they reached the door and the assault force scramble out and into the tower. With the ram taking up space, only about forty men could fit under it. About ten of the strongest men were needed to carry the ram. The rest would carry the shell on their backs or with their arms. It would be heavy and cumbersome.

The Greatjon assembled his force, some of the biggest and strongest men in the army. They picked up his large ram made from a swamp tree and then many men helped lift the heavy shield shell over them. Right away they knew the ram was too long and axes came forth and about ten feet was chopped off the rear end. Then they tried to move the shell and carry the ram and went about twenty yards on the road before stopping. The Greatjon came out the front, stooped low.

"Tiresome," he said to them, sweating in the moist fetid air. "We will be exhausted by the time we get to the tower doors."

"Then you will rest on the way," Ned said. "Each man should carry a water skin as well."

"Fresh water, from our kegs," Roose Bolton advised. "This bog water will make you ill."

"Aye," said the Greatjon. His men practiced a bit more and then finally he said they were as ready as they ever would be. They loaded up with their water skins and strapped on their swords and daggers and maces. It was time for the assault to begin.

The great shield shell marched up the Kingsroad and as soon as it was in range almost immediately arrows and crossbow bolts came down on it from the Drunkard's Tower. But they bounced off or stuck in the shell and the great turtle like shield shell moved ponderously down the road, stopping every now and then as the men under it rested. When they turned towards the Drunkard's Tower, more arrows came from the Gatehouse Tower and the Children's Tower. Now their movements were much slower. They were in thick mud and stalled. For a few minutes Robb thought they would get stuck but then with slow, short movements they started again. More arrows and bolts now came from the two other towers. At one point as the shield shell moved a body was left behind with an arrow sticking out of its left leg, behind the knee. As the man lay screaming for help two more arrows hit him, one in his throat, and he died. Robb knew he would not be the last to fall this day.

As they neared the tower, Robb's father gave the command for a fire arrow to be lofted into the air. As it arched high they suddenly saw away to the north on the other side of the Children's Tower many men rise out of the tall grasses and fens and bushes on the dryer north side. They moved towards the Children's Tower, shield men in front, archers behind, and the ironmen in the Children's Tower turned their bows and crossbows in that direction.

At this point the shield shell was at the doors of the Drunkard's Tower. After a moment they heard the pounding of the ram. Slowly at first, and then a bit faster as the men found their rhythm. After about thirty hits the doors were broken. They clearly heard the Greatjon roar and then his men were leaping through the door and the sound of steel on steel came across the bogs.

"Forward!" Ned Stark shouted and then the great force moved to support their comrades. The Karstark men and the others with them in the second assault wave ran down the Kingsroad and then many archers came behind them, and soon started firing arrows at the windows and battlements of the Drunkard's and Gatehouse Towers. Then something unexpected happened. The front doors to the Gatehouse Tower opened and about thirty ironmen charged out with battle cries on their lips and headed right for the Karstark reinforcements. As both sides struggled in the mud arrows flew from all directions, and men on both sides were hit and fell. The ironmen hit the Karstarks and then blood mixed with mud as men died. Soon it was obvious that the ironmen were getting the upper hand.

"We must reinforce them!" Ned Stark shouted and then without waiting he charged his horse down the Kingsroad.

"Winterfell!" Robb shouted and charged after him and then Roose Bolton and hundreds of other men on foot came behind, all screaming and shouting their battle cries. The road was narrow and already clogged with archers and Robb and his father had to struggle to get their horses past them. The arrows were still coming from the Drunkard's and the Gatehouse Tower, but the demonstration was drawing the fire of the Children's Tower away from them. Robb drew his sword and then in front of him and his father were dead ironmen and dead Karstarks. Arrows were zipping by and one hit Robb's shield on his left arm and stuck there. Then Robb and his father lay into the ironmen still standing. Robb drove his sword into the exposed neck of one and the man fell and then Robb's horse gave a scream and Robb saw an arrow was buried in its side, just missing his right leg. The ironmen on foot knew they were outnumbered and began to retreat to the Gatehouse Tower. Some fell with arrows in their backs and few reached it safety again. As the enemy retreated into the open doors, one ironmen fell with an arrow between his shoulder blades and his body prevented the door from being closed.

Robb shouted to his father. "The door is opened!" At that moment his horse staggered as another arrow hit it and horse and rider fell and Robb was soon half buried in mud. As strong hands helped pull him up he saw his father and Roose Bolton and dozens of other men charging across the muddy path on foot to the Gatehouse Tower door. A large man, one of Bolton's, Robb recalled, was first at the door and then a battle axe swung out the opening and took him in the face and he staggered back with half his face gone and fell and died in the mud. Then the body blocking the doors was pulled inside and the doors slammed shut again.

Robb staggered through the mud to the tower, where his father and Roose Bolton and about two dozen men huddled near the door. From above some arrows came down but soon Robb was too close to the tower walls for the archers to reach him. As he slammed into the mossy wall next to his father he looked at him and he saw his father was grinning like a madman. With a shock Robb realized his father was enjoying himself.

"Mother will kill me if you get hurt!' Robb shouted at him. Just then an arrow hit the wall above Robb's head and they all ducked. Arrows were still coming from the Drunkard's Tower that the Greatjon hadn't finished conquering yet. Across the road Robb saw more of their men stepping around the shield shell and entering the Drunkard's Tower. Out on the Kingsroad their archers were firing as best they could up at the three towers and more men were charging towards the Drunkard's Tower to support the Greatjon. Arrows found some and they fell in the mud. More arrows came their way and two men hugging the mossy tower wall with them fell with cries of anguish.

"We can't stay here!" Roose Bolton said in what passed for a shout from him. He charged toward the double doors and slammed his body into them but they wouldn't budge. Robb knew they were trapped and had no way in.

"Follow me!" he shouted. He had been here before, knew that the remains of a curtain wall were just to the right and as he ran they followed him. The mud sucked at their feet and it was agonizingly slow going. The wall was low but it would give them some protection from the Drunkard's Tower and the bulk of the Gatehouse Tower would shield them from the Children's Tower. Robb dove over the wall and sank into more mud. The others soon join him and then one man fell with an arrow in his back and they dragged him over the wall. The man was still alive, for the moment.

Robb wiped the mud from his face and looked at his father. "What do we do?"

"We wait," his father told him as he caught his breath. "We can't knock down that door without the ram."

Just then a big stone came from above them and splashed into the mud, almost hitting Roose Bolton's leg. They all moved closer to the tower walls and those with shields put them over their heads. A few more stones came but not many and one man took one in the helmet and fell, and Robb did not know if he was dead or not. Robb guessed that the ironmen had found few stones in these bogs, otherwise they would have soon been buried under them.

Shouts came from above them. "We going to fuck your corpses! Your mothers are all whores! You Starks fight like women!" No one replied, saving their energy for the fight to come.

After a bit it got quiet. Robb took a look out over the low wall and saw that their archers had retreated back down the Kingsroad, leaving behind at least a dozen or more bodies with arrows in them. He couldn't see the Children's Tower from where they were but he could see the Drunkard's. After a moment someone came out on top of the tower's badly leaning roof top. Then Robb grinned as the Greatjon stood there grasping onto the battlements for support. He shouted in his booming voice across the bogs and the road.

"NED! THE TOWER IS OURS! ALL THE SQUIDS ARE DEAD!"

A great cheer rose from their army. After fifteen more minutes the shield shell was moving again, coming across the road and making its way towards the Gatehouse Tower, slowly moving through the difficult mud. Now every arrow in the Children's Tower fell on the shell as well as from the Gatehouse Tower. Again the shell saved them and this time no men got hurt, although the shell now looked like a prickly thistle with so many arrows sticking out of it.

Soon they heard the booming of the ram on the door. After about twenty hits the door splintered and caved in.

"With me!" Ned Stark shouted and they leaped over the low wall and moved toward the front of the tower where the doors were. Already the Greatjon was coming out of the shell front, his armor bloody and his sword as well. His men followed him into the breach and there was soon the sound of steel on steel. Robb followed his father through the doors, with Bolton and a dozen other men not far behind them. There were few men left here after their disastrous sortie to stop the reinforcements. The fight wasn't long, and was bloody, as none of the ironmen yielded. His father got a minor cut on his sword hand and the Greatjon took an arrow to the thigh. Robb remained unharmed and killed one more ironman. Roose Bolton killed three by Robb's count, one whose head he chopped clean off with his sword. When it was all over a man ran to the tower top and hung the Stark banner there and another great cheer rose from the army.

They had dead as well and Robb counted at least two dozen of his own men dead inside and outside the tower, mostly outside with arrows in them. Many others nursed wounds, some minor and some very serious. From a tower window he could see more dead and wounded littering the Kingsroad. Some of the wounded were trying to drag themselves back toward where much of the army still waited. A wagon raced up, its wheels rattling loudly on the wooden planks and logs of the Kingsroad. Men leaped out and started helping the wounded get inside. No arrows came at them and soon they turned around and were away. After that the archers returned, coming down the Kingsroad with a strong force of infantry behind them. Robb shouted out the window for them to stop and not go any further. More men on wagons came behind them and soon more wounded were picked up.

"Come," his father said to him and Robb followed him to the top of the tower. Roose Bolton was already there, hiding low behind the battlements, looking over at the Children's Tower. All three of them were covered in mud and blood, and his father had his sword hand wrapped in a bloody rag.

The Children's Tower was the tallest of the three and from it arrows could come down on them. But they were strangely silent now and no more arrows came. Robb looked to the north and saw that the demonstration force had withdraw back into the vegetation and was under cover. Four bodies lay out there, with arrows in them.

"We can take the third tower with ease now," he said at once.

"Aye," said his father. "But let us rest a bit. We can bring up fresh men and…wait."

They saw the doors of the Children's Tower open. A man stepped out carrying a peace banner. He hesitated a moment and then walked up the path from the tower towards the Kingsroad. Twice he sank up to his knees in mud but he pulled himself up. He was an ironman, wearing the grey clothes and chain mail of his kind, with the kraken sigil in yellow and black on his surcoat. He had a bushy brown beard and long hair.

They came down the stairs and found the Greatjon on the second floor sitting in a large chair with a mug of ale in his hand, the arrow still sticking out of his upper left leg.

"You need a maester," Robb said to him.

"When the fight is done," the Greatjon replied and his face was in pain but he tried to hide it.

"It might just be over," Ned told him. "They want to parley."

"Could be a trick," Roose Bolton said. "To get our leaders in the open."

"Could be," Robb replied. "Father, you…"

"We'll let him come to us," Ned replied and Robb felt better.

They came to the shattered tower doors and stepped out, standing where the shield shell was now sitting in the mud. The man was about fifty feet away on the Kingsroad. He stepped closer and then stopped.

"I come to parley," he said. "You Ned Stark?"

"Aye," Ned replied. "Who are you?"

"Gerald Pyke. Victorian left me in command of the Children's Tower when he sailed away. I guess I am the only one left in charge now. What terms you offering?"

"How many of you left?"

"Maybe forty. Some wounded, some sick. The water is bad here. And the bogmen used poison arrows on some when we tried to re-supply. Them that ain't dead yet soon will be."

"I've got four thousand men here, and another ten thousand six or seven days march down the road," Ned replied. "Why should I give you terms?"

"You might lose a few hundred trying to take our tower."

Robb kicked the shield shell. "Not with this."

The ironman looked at it and then grunted. "I suppose not."

"I thought all ironmen fought to the death," Ned said to Pyke.

"Most times," answered Pyke wearily. "Not today. We just want to go home."

"I can't allow that," Ned told him. "You invaded our lands, killed the men we left here. If you yield you will be coming in chains to Winterfell. When Balon Greyjoy gives up the seastone chair we will set you free."

"That will be a long time, I fear."

"Aye, but death is forever, and no man knows what tomorrow will bring," Ned told him. "We will tend to your wounded and sick, feed you, and give any man who wants honest work while a prisoner. When the war is over you may go free. That is all I can offer."

"Fair terms," said Pyke. "I heard you are a man of your word, Ned Stark. But I must consult my men. Some may not agree."

"Take your time," Ned told him. "We aren't going anywhere."

Gerald Pyke turned and started back towards the Children's Tower. A long hour later he and thirty men came out and surrendered. When Roose Bolton and his men went inside they found nine more ironmen sick and wounded. Several were too far gone and Bolton gave them a quick death with his sword.

The Battle for Moat Cailin was over. The road north was open.

Robb's father immediately sent a messenger on horseback down the Kingsroad to tell the rest of the army to come north. Then they started collecting the rest of their wounded and dead, as the men and wagons and horses moved north and camped on drier ground on the northern side of Moat Cailin. Howland Reed, Lady Mormont and Lord Glover greeted them and all were happy the assault went so well. That afternoon they rested and tended to the wounded and prisoners and made arrangements for the dead, either to be buried here or for their bodies to be taken to final resting places in their homelands in the north. Only twenty-five of the Karstark men had survived and they were a sorrowful lot, and lamented that they would have to bring such grievous news of so many of their brethren dead to their homes.

That night they had a great feast and drank well and many toasts were made for those who fell. As the feast died down Robb found his father, sitting with Howland Reed and the Greatjon, who now sported a big bandaged around his upper left leg. He was very drunk and shouted for more ale. Robb gave his father a look and nodded off to the side and they stepped aside behind one of the tents.

Robb had placed Ice there, leaning against the tent and he now picked it up and he held it out to his father. "It's yours."

"You are Lord of Winterfell," his father said, refusing to take the sword.

"Father, we know that is not true. You have led this army since you were freed. You have made the plans, the men have listened to you, have followed you, not me."

After a moment his father nodded. "Aye…That was a mistake. I should have stepped aside and let you do all of that."

"No!" Robb said instantly. "You are their leader. I am still learning. I…I know I did well in the Riverlands. But I had so much help."

"Robb, you know I will stand by your side and do all I can. And perhaps I was a little eager to take leadership again. But you are still Lord of Winterfell, by all the laws of the kingdoms."

"You were stripped of your title by a false king. Everyone knows that by now."

"Aye, but it still stands. Keep Ice. Some day it would have been yours anyway."

Robb reluctantly agreed, for the moment. His father clapped him on the shoulder. "One more thing. Don't tell your mother what I did today."

Robb looked at the fresh bandage on his father's hand. "She will know."

"I'll say it was a stray arrow."

"She might believe you."

He grinned. "Aye, she might at that. Come, my son, let us have a drink and toast our lost men."

They drank some more and visited many of their men and a long time later Robb begged off any more celebrations and wearily went to his tent and was glad to finally sleep, and glad that the way home was finally open. Before he closed his eyes he said a silent prayer to the old gods and the new for those men who had fallen and would never rise again.

The next morning Robb awoke early in his tent with Grey Wind licking his hand. He sat up and nuzzled his pet. "Sorry I left you out of the battle. I couldn't look after father and you at the same time."

They came outside and the air was fresh and the smell of the bogs was much less on the northern side. Men greeted him and called him "Lord Stark" and Robb still felt like he did not deserve the title. Grey Wind went off through the grasses and Robb felt a strong desire to run after and be with him. Suddenly Robb felt all his senses sharpen and he could feel the ground moving swiftly under his feet and he smelled the scent of an animal. Then in his mind he was with Grey Wind, and Grey Wind was sniffing after a rabbit in the grasses. Soon he was bounding and leaping and the rabbit was flying in fear but was not fast enough. As Grey Wind's jaws opened wide to clamp down on its warm flesh Robb snapped back to reality and found himself falling to the ground.

"My lord!" said a voice and then strong arms were helping him up. It was Gendry. He helped Robb to a chair by a table.

"Are you wounded, my lord?" Gendry asked in worry.

"No…not wounded," Robb replied as he steadied himself. Other men nearby looked at him in concern. "I am fine. Too much ale last night." Many of them grinned and laughed and then started to move away. A servant came with bread and meat and ale and placed it on the table.

Gendry started to say goodbye when Robb told him to sit and Gendry did so "Have you eaten yet?"

"Yes, my lord. I was up early. Just on my way to get some water for the forge." Robb now saw there was a wooden bucket on the ground beside Gendry's chair.

"That can wait," Robb told him and he poured two cups of ale and handed one to Gendry.

"Your shield shell held up well in the attack," Robb said to him after they both drank some. "You should be rewarded for such good work."

"It was your idea, my lord."

"But I got it from Arya and her turtle."

"She told me."

Robb grinned. "I guess she tells you everything."

He blushed a bit. "Most things, my lord."

Robb looked at him steadily and then decided to ask. "I know you were very close to her this last month or so. Has she ever told you…told you about Nymeria?"

He nodded. "She has."

"How did she know Nymeria was nearby that day you two found her?"

He looked uncomfortable and then spoke. "She…she dreams of Nymeria, my lord."

Robb knew it was true because he had dreamed of Grey Wind as well. He wondered if the rest happened to Arya as well. "Only dreams?"

"She should tell you all this, my lord."

"But you are here now. I will know it all."

And so Gendry told him, all of it, from the dreams she had and the incident with Sansa and the Hound and how she thought she was a warg.

That shocked Robb. He had heard the term before, but never thought he was one. Now it seemed so clear.

"Gods," he said when Gendry was finished. Just then Grey Wind came back to camp and his muzzle was bloody and he looked happy and suddenly Robb felt as if his belly was full of raw meat and he could taste blood on his lips. He shook his head and the feeling passed.

"Are you well, my lord?" Gendry asked and then he saw Grey Wind come up to Robb and then Gendry seemed to understand. "It's happening to you too, isn't it?"

"Aye," Robb said quietly "Tell no one."

"Your father already knows."

That surprised him. "How?"

"The day Nymeria came back he questioned Arya and Sansa. They both told him they had the wolf dreams, my lord."

"Sansa as well?"

"Not anymore, not since her direwolf was killed."

Robb looked at him steadily. "Do you not find all this a little…unbelievable?"

Gendry shook his head. "No, my lord. I believe what your sister tells me. I saw it happen to her, a few times now. It seems like she goes away, as if she is not even here, and then she starts to fall like you did or wakes up shaking and sweating. She has wondered if you and your other brothers have had the same experiences."

Robb had never thought on that. Did Jon and Rickon and Bran have similar connections with their direwolves? He would have to find out. Then he remembered how Summer had saved Bran and his mother's life when the assassin had attacked. Maybe all of them had a connection with their direwolves.

After that Robb thanked Gendry for telling him the truth and Gendry went off to get his water. Robb ate a bit of food and then found Olyvar and had his chain mail put on. He also told Olyvar to clean his clothes from the battle yesterday, as they were covered in mud and blood still. With Grey Wind at his side he went around inspecting their camp and making sure all was well. The ironmen were all grouped together with their hands and feet bound, under heavy guard. Robb ordered food and drink brought for them and their hands untied so they could eat properly.

Next he went looking for his father. He found him at the maester's tent. Inside and outside were many wounded men and the place was filled with the groans of the badly wounded. The scent of blood was heavy in the air and Grey Wind was growling and Robb told him to go off and run a bit and once his direwolf got the hint and went off, Robb stepped into the tent.

The Greatjon was inside, on the table, with Robb's father and Howland Reed standing by him and Robb knew right away something bad was happening. The maester was examining the Greatjon's leg wound and it was full of pus and the skin around it was growing green and black and red lines were extending from it.

"If you cut off my leg I will cut off your head!" the Greatjon roared at the maester.

"Easy, Jon," Robb's father said. "More boiling wine and a poultice will do the trick."

"I have already done so," said the maester. "It is the mud of these bogs. It has gotten into the wounds of many men and is causing corruption."

Ned flexed his wounded hand. "My hand seems fine."

"Then you are one of the lucky ones, my lord," the maester replied. "I fear many of the wounded will die, slowly and in great pain."

"More wine then," the Greatjon said, his voice weaker. "Inside and out."

"My people know of some flowers and roots that can cure such mortification, once they are ground up and prepared properly," Howland Reed told them. "The old healers know of these things."

"Please find them," Ned asked him. "Bring back as much medicine as you can, my friend. We will need it all." Howland left without another word and the maester seemed a bit put out.

"Lord Stark, these bogmen…"

"Have been a great help to us, maester," Ned said sternly. "If their medicine can help my men we will gladly accept their help."

The maester hesitated and then nodded. "Yes, my lord."

Ned and and Robb stepped out of the tent. "How goes things?" his father asked him.

"All is quiet," Robb told him. "I saw to the ironmen being fed. Our men are mainly resting. What plans for today?"

Ned looked at him. "What do you think we should do?"

"Rest."

"Aye. What else?"

Robb thought of communications next. They needed to tell the world they had taken the Moat. "Are there any ravens left?"

"We should find out. Who will we send them to and with what messages?"

"To Winterfell…and Riverrun. Maybe White Harbor and the other northern strongholds if there are ravens for them. Tell them the Moat has fallen and the road north is open."

"Good. See to it," Ned told him.

"We should also prepare a force to stay and guard the Moat," Robb added.

"Aye. White Harbor is closest and can provide the most support in the future. I will talk to the Manderly men with us and see if they can send a rider to White Harbor to Lord Wyman Manderly. Hopefully, they can provide a permanent garrison."

Robb went off to find out if there were any ravens left. He knew he should ask the prisoners first, to see if they would tell him. He found them sitting on the ground, eating hard bread and dried fish, and drinking ale and they seemed glad to have it. When the Children's Tower had surrendered yesterday they found that the ironmen's supplies were almost gone. The crannogmen had cut them off, and when Victorian had left with the last two ships they had no way to re-supply. They also discovered that their supply of arrows and crossbow bolts was also nearly finished.

Robb looked over the prisoners until he saw Gerald Pyke. "I need have words with you," Robb said to him.

"This pup needs have words," one of Pyke's men said with a laugh.

"This is Lord Stark!" shouted a guard and he went to hit the ironman with his spear butt but Robb stopped him.

"I am Lord Robb Stark of Winterfell," he said to the prisoners.

Another ironman shook his head in disdain. "You ought to be gelded, you bastard, Pyke, for making us surrender to this boy."

"I surrendered to his father," Pyke growled. "And I didn't hear you complain none, Codd, when I put the offer to you yesterday."

The man named Codd spat on the ground but said nothing. Pyke was looking up at Robb. "Say what you will…Lord Stark."

"Are there any ravens left?"

"None," Pyke told him. "The young whelp of a half-maester you lot left here when you marched south sent them all off with warnings when we attacked. Or so he told us."

"Where is the half-maester now?"

"Had himself an accident after the third day."

"An accident?"

"He fell from the Children's Tower," said Codd with a laugh.

"Fell or was pushed," said another with a grin.

Robb bristled at this callous way they had treated the defenders of Moat Cailin. All of the men who had been left here to defend it were dead. Robb still did not know how the ironmen had done it. The garrison had been small and maybe they had been caught unawares. If they came at night, silently, and the garrison was careless, they could have gotten right up to the tower doors before anyone knew it.

So there was no swift way to spread the news. Robb turned away from them and as he walked Grey Wind came up to him and Robb rubbed his fur. He stood for a while, looking out over his men, at the three towers, and wondered at how some men became so cruel and callous about the lives of other men. They were ironmen, reavers, who pillaged and took what they wanted. It was their way. Robb knew, but why was it their way? He had lived with Theon Greyjoy for ten years, and he had never asked him that. Thinking on Theon, he wondered again what had happened to him. Robb had sent him to make a pact with his father but instead of accepting the friendship of Winterfell Balon Greyjoy had declared himself King of the Iron Islands and sent his men to attack the north. But where was Theon? What had he said to his father? What had become of him?

The next day it rained and they all got wet and things became more miserable. They moved the camp a bit further north to higher and drier ground. Many of the wounded were dying from a mortification of their wounds and the maester despaired and knew not what to do but remove their limbs if it was in an arm or leg.

On the third day since the battle, Howland Reed returned. The Greatjon was fading, and his leg had to come off or he would die and already it might be too late. Just as the maester was preparing to do the operation, Howland Reed arrived with six women. Two were very old and the other four were young and comely. Robb had never seen a woman of the bogs before and found that they were quite attractive. Then he remembered he was married and felt a twinge of guilt.

The old women were healers of the crannogmen and the four girls their helpers and students. They set to work, chopping up plants and flowers they had carried with them. They began mixing the plants and flowers with water in wooden bowls, and applied the poultices to the wounds on the men. Then all they could do was wait.

On the fifth day since the battle the Greatjon was more alert, more lively, and his wound had healed much and the maester told him that he would not lose his leg after all. Most of the other men recovered as well, but a few still died.

On the sixth day a rider came up the plank road, picking his way through the mud and water that now dotted the Kingsroad. When he reached camp he hurriedly asked to speak to the commanders. Food and drink were brought for him and he gave his report. He had good news and then even more incredible news.

"The rest of the army is but a day behind me," he first said after he quaffed some ale.

"A day?" said Ned Stark unbelieving. "How did they move so fast?"

"It was your lady wife, my lord," the rider said. "After three days of waiting she could stand it no more and ordered them to march."

"And they listened?" Lord Glover said with a touch of disbelief.

"Lord Tallhart tried to stop her but she would not listen and so…we came," the man told them.

"She can be most persuasive when she wants to be," Robb's father replied and the other lords all laughed. "That is good news. Soon we can march for home, my lords." And that cheered everyone up.

Then the rider told them the incredible news. "Before the rest of the army marched north, they had another rider from the Twins. They received news of a battle at King's Landing. Stannis Baratheon has won a great victory."

Everyone was suddenly full of questions and all the man knew was that Stannis had won and the Lannisters had retreated, but were not defeated. This they discussed for a long time and all wondered what would come next. Would Stannis declare himself king? Where were the false king and his mother now? What had the battle been like? Not for the first time Robb cursed the lack of news.

The next day in the morning they had a rider from White Harbor. Lord Wyman had received more news from the south by raven message. Stannis had declared himself king, and Joffrey was dead. There was great cheering when the news of Joffrey's death spread through the camp. But they were more subdued when they learned that there had been a terrible fire and much of King's Landing had burnt and many thousands had died. Lord Manderly of White Harbor had been asked by King Stannis to swear loyalty to him. They now understood that King Stannis was sending ravens to all of the greater and lesser houses asking for their loyalty. Again long discussions were held and much was speculated on.

"What do we do?" Lady Mormont asked, looking to Robb's father as all the other lords did. But his father looked to Robb, and nodded, giving him a chance to state his opinion first.

Robb spoke in a clear commanding voice. "If Joffrey is truly dead and Stannis is king, then we should show our loyalty to him."

"Stern Stannis," growled the Greatjon from where he sat on a chair with his leg heavily bandaged. "We trade a boy king for a prickly one!"

"Aye," said Robb's father. "Stannis is a stern man. We all know this. He is difficult to deal with, and will not bend for any man. But he is the rightful heir. Cersei's children were not Robert's, we all know this to be true. Stannis has the rightful claim."

"And if he took King's Landing and the Iron Throne," began Lord Bolton in his soft voice. "The rest of the realm will soon bend the knee. We would be foolish not to do likewise."

"Aye," said Lord Glover. "The realm needs a king. Better Stannis than these Lannisters."

But Lady Mormont had some words of caution. "My lords, we have all heard rumors that Stannis has taken the Lord of Light as his new god. What will this mean for the Seven Kingdoms if Stannis is the new King?"

That brought forth a great deal of discussion which got them nowhere, since they did not know if the rumors were true or what Stannis' intentions were. But many stated strongly that they would not bend the knee if they had to give up the old gods and the new for the Lord of Light.

And then the Greatjon voiced something else which Robb had already thought on. "We will not bend the knee until Stannis gives Ned back what was taken from him!"

Robb was the first to shout his assent. "Aye! My father is the Lord of Winterfell. You all know this to be true."

As the others shouted their agreement, his father looked across at him and raised his hands for silence. "My lords and lady," he started. "I will take my titles back if King Stannis so allows. But I want you to never forget what my son Robb has done for our people. Without him I would not be here today and maybe many of you as well. In future, when I am old and grey and Robb comes into his titles, I am sure you will remember he is a leader of men as much as I am."

Robb had never loved his father as much as at that moment and as they all cheered and shouted Ned came to him and hugged him tight and Robb fought to control his emotions. A round of ale was ordered and they all drank to Robb's health.

At noon, as a light drizzle was falling, the first outriders of the rest of the army came across the bogs past the three towers. Soon more appeared and then marching infantry and wagons were coming in. Lord Tallhart came into the camp to make his report. "She would not leave it be," he told Ned and Robb. "I told her your orders and she told me she would ride up here by herself . Well, I couldn't allow that so…here we are."

"No harm done," Ned told him and then twenty minutes later Robb saw his mother and sisters and wife and Jeyne Poole on horseback, riding up through the grasses and rocks to where the camp was. He and his father came out to meet them.

"My lady," Ned said to his wife as he helped her down from her horse. She had tears in her eyes as she hugged him tight and then looked at his hand and started asking questions with a stern look on her face. Then Sansa and Arya leaped down from their horses and hugged their father and then Robb as well.

"Where is he?" Arya asked Robb and he knew who she meant.

He pointed. "Off that way. Follow the black smoke." Arya said no more and ran with Nymeria at her heels. Jeyne shyly said hello to Robb but he barely spoke a word to her as he saw Roslin come up on her horse. He walked swiftly to her side and helped her down.

"My lord," she said with a dip of her head.

"My lady," he replied.

"Go on and kiss her!" shouted the Greatjon from the table and that brought a great roar of laughter from all present. Both Robb and Roslin turned a bit red and he leaned in and gave her a quick kiss which brought another great cheer.

For many hours the men and horses and wagons came in and Robb and his father and the other lords were kept busy, placing the men in camps and organizing the army, and placing guards and making plans to move north. The drizzle turned to rain and all got wet again. By the time supper came Robb was beat and was glad to sit with his family and break bread in a large pavilion which protected them from the rain. By now all had heard the news of the battle at King's Landing and that Joffrey had died and Stannis was king. None was more pleased than Arya.

"Good riddance," she said with undisguised glee. "I only wish I had been there to see it. How did he die?"

"We don't know," said her father with a worrying look to her. "Arya, I know you despised him, but let go of your anger, my daughter. He is dead now and that is an end to it."

"Sorry," Arya said, as she chewed her bottom lip. "Just…he caused so much trouble for us. All of us." As she said this she looked at Sansa, who seemed subdued.

"It seems like a dream," Sansa said quietly. "Is it truly over? Are we truly going home?"

"Aye," said their father and all felt joy at the prospect of seeing Winterfell and Bran and Rickon and everyone else again.

That night the rains stopped and Robb soon retired to his tent. Outside it Olyvar was standing guard, dead on his feet and Robb told him to go get some rest. Inside the tent his wife was waiting for him. Their tent had a few comforts she had brought from the Twins with her. There was a small table and two chairs and a nice mattress that rested on a wooden platform raised above the dirt. On the table were some lit candles and a bottle of wine and two cups.

"Let me help you, my lord," Roslin said as Robb started to take off his armor and weapons.

"Roslin…you don't have to call me 'my lord' when we are alone."

"Then…shall I call you Robb, my lord?"

He smiled. "I would like that very much."

After his armor came off and he washed his face and hands in a basin of cold water, they sat and drank wine and she told him about their trip north and he described the battle, but not all the gory details as he did not want to frighten her.

After a bit she asked him about Arya. "Robb…I have heard your sister is in love with the blacksmith."

Oh, brother. She was a Frey and Arya was promised to her half-brother. "I wouldn't exactly call it love," Robb said. "She has a crush on him…maybe."

"That's not what Sansa and Jeyne are saying."

"Arya is ten…well, almost eleven years old. She is too young to understand love. She…she just likes spending time with him. They are very close friends who have been through a lot."

"Oh…that's…oh. I understand."

Robb sighed. "I know she is promised to your half-brother."

"Yes," Roslin said and her face fell a bit. "Pity for Arya."

That took him by surprise. "I don't understand."

"She would have to live there with…those people. Better if she ran away with Gendry and never came back."

"It can't have been that bad? Can it?"

"I hate them, all of them!" she said with sudden furor. "All on top of each other, crowded so much you can't breathe and everyone knows who said what and who likes who and who hates who. With their endless plots to win my father's favor and to make others, their own blood, look bad, and…and…him…that old man…my father! Taking a wife younger than me! How they laugh at him behind his back in all the realm. I know, don't say it isn't so. When I went to Rosby years ago the people snickered at my mother and me and my siblings. My cousins teased us and asked us if our father wasn't really our great-grandfather. And now he has a new wife, again, his eighth and she is…oh I can't stand that place!"

She stopped to catch her breath and Robb made gentle soothing sounds. "It's over, you aren't going back there. You're going to Winterfell. The North is big and wide and free. No one will crowd you there."

She smiled. "I know. I…I worry for Arya, for what will happen to her."

"Her wedding day is a long way off. Years away, so do not fret for her. And she is tough. She can handle a lot."

"Sansa said Arya killed people. It can't be true, can it?"

"It is," Robb said heavily. "She and Gendry got in a few tight spots on the way from King's Landing."

Roslin looked at him steadily. "I won't tell anyone about her and Gendry, I promise."

"Good," he said. "That would only cause trouble that we don't need."

"Does she really love him?"

"I know not."

"Sansa thinks so."

"Sansa is a dreamer, a romantic. She…she was once promised to Joffrey."

Roslin nodded. "I have heard. Now he is dead."

"He was not a kind King," Robb told her. "He was cruel and petty and his family have done their best to destroy my family."

She reached out and took his right hand. "But they have not. And here we are."

Robb felt a thrill run though his body as her hand stroked his. She didn't say a word, but rose from her chair, still holding his hand and he rose with her and they walked to the bed. Slowly she reached up and kissed him and he held her tight. Then she stepped back and started to remove her clothing. Robb turned to blow out the candles but she stopped him.

"No…Robb. Leave them be. I want you to see me and I to see you…in the light."

Robb smiled and then started to remove his clothing as well. In moments they were both naked and he took her in his arms. She was slim and not robust as his mother would have liked but she was all woman and she smelled of perfume and soap and he was soon kissing her and nuzzling her neck as her hands ran over his body. He pushed her back on the bed and they lay together touching each other all over, and she sighed and moved and soon he had her groaning in pleasure. Robb lifted his body up and lay between her legs and soon he was deep inside her. They were both relatively new at this but instinct took over and they found a rhythm and when he was done they both lay panting and gasping for breath.

She lay curled up next to him with her head on his chest. "You make me feel so wonderful."

"Aye," Robb said. "And you do the same for me."

She sat up a bit and looked at him and then lay on top and kissed him gently. She kissed his cheek and his neck and then his chest. Then she looked at him and he saw nothing but love in her eyes and he felt the same in return.

"Roslin…we have know each other but a few days…"

"I know. I wish we had spent our lives together."

He smiled. "We have plenty of time now. Time for us to get to know each other, time for us to plan a family, time for us to…to fall in love."

She gasped. "I think it is already happening…my lord."

Robb kissed his wife and hugged her tight. "Aye. I think it is as well…my lady."


	32. Chapter 32 Varys

**Ned Stark Lives! Chapter 32 Varys**

"Dorne and the Vale are so far staying neutral," Lord Varys reported to the commanders of the Lannister host. "As far as I can tell that is."

"How reliable are your sources?" Ser Kevan asked him. It was night and they were sitting around a rough table in the commander's pavilion. Ser Jaime and the Mountain and Ser Addam and the other commanders were all present. The only one missing was Tyrion Lannister, who had ridden the day before for Harrenhal. Varys knew his wisdom would be sorely missed.

"As reliable as can be under the circumstances," Varys replied. "My little birds are still out there, gathering the news. But they are having trouble coming to me as no ravens are trained to come to this camp. So the news will come, but not as fast as we hope. The song I hear from Dorne is that they are pleased and vexed at the same time. Vexed as to what to do, as they have no love for either Stannis or Tommen. Pleased…forgive me, my lords…but they are pleased that…Lord Tywin has passed."

He knew that would cause some grumbling. Jaime glared at him, as he expected. "Does Dorne still blame my father for the deaths of Elia and her whelps?"

"They do, my lord," Varys replied. He knew Ser Gregor and Ser Amory Lorch had done the deed but the commands had come from Lord Tywin. He chanced a small glance at the Mountain who seemed undisturbed by this discussion. Now there was a cold murderous man if there ever was one, Varys knew.

"The Dornish will never support Tommen with all their hearts," Ser Kevan said. "But Lord Varys is right. They have no love for Stannis Baratheon either. The Stormlands and Dorne have clashed in the past, and Robert's claim to the throne was secured by the deaths of Rhaegar and Elia's children. Stannis' claim stems from this as well. We can expect they will remain neutral. What news of the Vale?"

"Lady Lysa trusts no one, including Stannis Baratheon," Varys told them. "She may bend the knee to him, symbolically, but she will never send her knights and soldiers to support him. She will stay in her stronghold and ride out the war and the coming winter and her people will love her for not involving them."

"She would never support us, either," observed Jaime. "Not after Tyrion's little visit to the Vale."

"So the Vale and Dorne will remain neutral," Ser Kevan summed up. "What news of the Riverlands?"

"They are very quiet, my lord," Varys reported. "Much damage was done to their lands and they are busy trying to get in one last harvest before the snows come. The latest shipment of gold from Casterly Rock reached them a week past. That makes it a little over half of what was promised paid. We still hold several dozen of their lords and knights as hostage and they still have equal numbers of ours. Some families are being prickly over ransom payments. The Riverlands lords may also bend the knee to Stannis but they will beg off supporting his war, citing their recent heavy losses and the devastation of their lands as reasons."

"Lord Edmure knows we will crush him if he stirs from his castle," Ser Gregor commented.

"I expect the Tullys will not stir, not with so much recently lost," Ser Kevan said. "But we know they will never support us as well." He turned back to Varys. "What of the Starks and the North?"

"They hate us," Jaime said and no one disagreed. "But are they in any position to help Stannis?"

"They are not," Varys replied. "The latest news I have of them is that they are moving up the Neck towards Moat Cailin."

"To turn their army around, to march south again, would be costly," Ser Kevan said. "They would need to re-supply and would not find so much as a chicken or a bushel of wheat in the Riverlands. No, Ned Stark will take his people home. He knows winter is coming soon."

"But will he bend the knee to Stannis?" Ser Addam asked.

"He will," said Ser Kevan. "And Stannis will restore him as Lord of Winterfell and there is nothing we can do about either. If our war lasts past the winter the Starks may take the field again. But that is a long way off." He turned back to Varys. "What of Highgarden?"

"Disturbing rumors, my lords," Varys told them. "It seems that Mace Tyrell is prepared to bend the knee if he gets his children back."

Jaime scoffed. "Stannis would never return them for a mere promise of loyalty. He will expect the Tyrells to take the field."

"Quite," said Ser Kevan. "And that leaves us between Highgarden and King's Landing."

"The Tyrell's have no cavalry," Ser Addam reminded them. "Most of those we destroyed had belonged to lords from the Reach who supported first Renly and then Stannis."

"They can still muster twenty or thirty thousand infantry," Jaime stated.

"And they can gather more cavalry," Ser Kevan added. "Given time."

He stood and looked at a map that was on the table. "Highgarden is far away. It will be weeks before they could arrive."

"Then we must attack King's Landing at once," Jaime said strongly. "Before Stannis can get too comfortable on the Iron Throne."

Ser Kevan kept silent, staring at the map, as the commanders waited. He looked to Varys. "What news of the illness in the city?"

"It has mainly run its course, my lord."

Ser Kevan nodded and then he took a deep breath. "Yes. We must attack. And soon."

All at once everyone was talking, making suggestions, looking over the maps of King's Landing, discussing where to hit them and how. Ser Kevan looked to Varys.

"Thank you for your report, Lord Varys. You may retire. We have much to discuss. Please let me know if any news comes."

"Of course, my lord," Varys said and he bowed and left the tent and walked out in the cool night air. He had a feeling that Ser Kevan asked him to leave because he did not totally trust Varys to hear what military plans they were making. It did not bother Varys in the least. No one loved him, he knew that. They needed him and used him, as he did them, but there was no love between him and those he had served over the years. The army was still camped by the first bridge over the Blackwater. The reinforcements from the west had reached them yesterday and now with almost sixty thousand men, the camp was a massive sprawling thing that was like a city sprung up in the middle of the forests and fields of the region. It even extended a bit over the Blackwater as there was not enough room on the north side of the river.

For his long range plans, Varys thought things were going well. The Lannisters and Stannis were still ready to destroy each other. The coming battle would kill many more of them and perhaps Stannis would die this time and little Tommen would take the Iron Throne. Then his fool of a mother could weave her special magic and soon she would cause more discord and maybe even a new war, perhaps with the Dornish. All the better if it came to pass, Varys thought. The more rotten the place is the easier it will fall when the true king returns. Now what could he do to ensure a Lannister victory?

Varys had known if Stannis ever took the throne it would mean trouble for all his plans. Stannis would make a good king, and he would not stand any idiots whispering in his ears, nor would he let his emotions rule him as they did Cersei. Then again, he did follow the Lord of Light and he had the red woman at his side. If he kept the Iron Throne and tried to impose his new religion on the people, that would also mean trouble. If Stannis' red woman had her way, it would tear the Seven Kingdoms apart. The people would tolerate a new religion, let it have a place by the side of the Seven and the old gods and the Drowned god and all the other minor sects the people worshiped. But they would not tolerate anyone telling them and forcing them how to worship. If Stannis and his red priestess tried to stamp out the gods the people now worshiped, the realm would bleed like it never had before. Maybe… maybe it would be better if Stannis did not lose the Iron Throne.

Varys retired to his tent and washed and drank a bit of wine and sat at a small table and thought on what to do. He had much to think on, most importantly which side he should support. Should he help the Lannisters or Stannis win? And once he decided, how could he ensure the side he chose would succeed? Ser Kevan was determined to attack the city. Varys was not a military man but he suspected that the Lannisters did not have the strength to take the city in one blow. That meant a siege would commence.

A siege was risky for both sides. Armies besieged and doing the besieging were very susceptible to disease and starvation. However, food would not be a problem as both sides could re-supply, and therefore the siege could drag on for a long time, months, even years. With winter coming that was unlikely to happen, as the heavy fall rains and then the snows and cold would ensure that no army could stay long in the field. Even the people of King's Landing would suffer in the rain and cold and snows to come as many of its buildings were now burnt out ruins.

The Lannisters would also have to look over their shoulder, wondering if Riverrun or Highgarden was about to stab them in the back by attacking Casterly Rock and Lannisport or come to the support of Stannis at Kings' Landing. Varys had a feeling that if the Lannisters could not take the city in one quick strike, then Ser Kevan would withdraw, and not order a siege. That would be the smart move, militarily speaking. But politically speaking it was a disaster. Time was on Stannis' side, not the Lannisters. The longer he sat on the Iron Throne, the greater the support he would gather. Even if Dorne and the Vale remained neutral, Riverrun may not, and the Iron Islands were still in rebellion and close to the Lannister homelands. If Stannis made a deal with Balon Greyjoy, the Iron Fleet might just appear off Lannisport some day. Many minor houses like Rosby would also support Stannis. He was not known to be a kind man, and any house that refused to bend the knee or offer even a minor bit of support could expect to feel his anger once the war was over. If he was still on the Iron Throne.

And if Stannis won more of the coming battles, Varys knew he would seek out and kill Tommen and Myrcella, Cersei and Jaime, and Tyrion. None would be safe, not even in Casterly Rock. That mighty bastion could hold out a long time, and the Lannister gold might buy them sellswords and other allies, but in the end if Stannis had the support of the other kingdoms, the Lannisters could not last. And they had no friends left, anywhere.

No, Ser Kevan had better attack now and kill Stannis or he and Tommen and Cersei and the rest would lose it all eventually.

And that left Varys with a difficult decision. Who should he help win? He could warn Stannis of the coming attack, but somehow he knew that Stannis had read the situation as well as he did, so there was no point in that. Besides, Stannis would as likely cut off his head as reward him. The lost finger tips of Ser Davos Seaworth were proof of Stannis Baratheon's idea of justice. A man's good services were weighed against his past crimes and Varys knew his recent support of the Lannisters would weigh heavily against his survival. And if he stayed with the Lannisters and they lost, then he would surely lose his head if captured. The life of a fugitive roaming the Seven Kingdoms would not suit him at all. And if the Lannisters win he would go back to being master of whispers, helping Cersei keep control of the realm. He could stay and help her bring on her own destruction, but she was too emotional and paranoid and one day she might find his usefulness at an end and then he would lose his head as well because his head knew too many secrets. It seemed a foregone conclusion that his death was imminent. And that would not do at all, not until his plans came to fruition at least, and hopefully for many long years after that.

Varys now knew what he had to do. He would help neither side win, for it did not matter who won the Iron Throne, Stannis or Tommen, controlled by his mother Cersei. They would both kill him in the end and each was equally capable of causing the chaos in the land his own plans required. It was time to leave the Seven Kingdoms.

Varys knew that the day would come and had made his plans a long time ago, but now they were awry because Stannis' army occupied King's Landing and controlled Blackwater Bay. When Stannis' attack on King's Landing seemed imminent Varys had a ship waiting for him up the north coast of Blackwater Bay. The ship had orders to make its way to Duskendale if Varys did not appear soon after the battle. Hopefully, they had made it there. Or they may have been captured. Whatever the case, it was Duskendale he needed to reach, as it was the nearest port besides Kings' Landing where he could expect to find a ship that would cross the Narrow Sea. It may have to pass by Dragonstone or it may meet Stannis ships, but Varys had many ways to disguise who he really was from prying eyes. Perhaps Maidenpool was a better choice. Then again, the Riverlands were still in chaos so that might be more dangerous for a man traveling alone. No, Duskendale and a ship across the Narrow Sea. And he knew exactly where he had to go. Pentos was calling him. It was time to reconnect with Illyrio. It was time to relax for a while, and prepare. Then it would be time to set in motion the next part of their plans.

Once the decision was made there was no point in staying still. Varys had nothing to take with him, his belongings left in the Red Keep when the battle went wrong. Most of his documents he had gathered for years he had burned when the siege began. It would not have done for Stannis to find them, with all the little secrets Varys knew about everyone in the realm. Most of that Varys had committed to memory anyway. His many disguises and potions and poisons he also had to leave behind. A small amount of gold he had brought out in a purse concealed under his robes, but it would not be enough to go where he wanted to go. Most of his vast sums of gold and silver he had gathered over the years was stored with the Iron Bank of Braavos, which had a branch in Pentos, so he did not need to worry about money once on the other side of the Narrow Sea. But he would need more gold for his journey. First stop, the Lannister paymaster.

The reinforcements from Casterly Rock had brought a large sum of gold, silver, and copper with them, to pay the army and for any unforeseen needs. Varys found the tent where the army paymaster had set up shop. Outside were four large guards.

"Lord Varys to see the paymaster," he stated and after a moment he was allowed to enter the tent. It was lit with candles and a brazier of coals kept it warm. At a long table sat the paymaster and two clerks, young men learning their trade. All three were writing in ledger books. The paymaster was a grizzled old man, going bald, and had a drooping mustache. The fingertips on his right hand were black with ink. He was bent over his ledger book, adding numbers to it with a quill. Behind him were two more guards and four large chests, which Varys knew held much gold, silver, and copper. Varys waited a moment until the paymaster was finished.

"Yes, Lord Varys. How can I help you?" the paymaster asked as he looked up from his books.

"I am in need of a small amount for the services Ser Kevan has advised you of." That service being the paying of spies.

The paymaster looked at him carefully and Varys could see the distrust and also the disdain in his eyes. "A small amount? Being how much?"

"I think one hundred dragons will suffice. For now." He could not ask for too much or that would bring questions. One hundred would see him to Duskendale and across the Narrow Sea in some comfort.

"One hundred," said the paymaster with a weary sigh. He made a note in his ledger and then took a set of keys and moved to unlock one of the chests.

"Half in gold, the rest in silver and copper," Varys told him. The paymaster opened the chest and counted out coins and then took a small canvas bag and dropped them into it.

"Sign the ledger," he told Varys and after it was done Varys picked up the bag and was on his way. He went to his tent and changed into a pair of brown woolen pants and a linen shirt, plus a pair of soldier's boots he had acquired. He had left most of his disguises behind in the Red Keep and over the last few days had been gathering a few items to help him disappear if need be. But he needed a few more items yet.

The bag of money was a bit heavy and he would need to carry food as well so decided he need a larger bag of some sort. Plus a bit of armor and a cloak. Yes, a soldier's disguise would do for this venture, at least until he left the camp. Such things could be had near the maester's tent, as the wounded and dead had no more use for them. Varys made his way to the maester's tent and found what he needed piled outside, with no one guarding it and no one about. The maester's tent was a place most men avoided, unless in need of assistance. He found a red cloak with just a bit of mud on it and an iron half helm that fit, plus a soldier's knapsack, now empty. Most of the weapons had already been picked up for re-use, but there was a small dagger in a leather sheath that had been overlooked. He picked that up as well. He stepped behind the maester's tent and in moments had the money in the knapsack, the cloak around his shoulders and the helmet on his head. The dagger he strapped to his left forearm, hiding it up his shirt sleeve. A bit of mud on the face and a bit of a stoop shouldered walk and he was set.

Next to the food wagons. There were tables set up under pavilions with loaves of bread on them, baskets of apples and pears, piles of cold roasted chicken legs and slices of ham, plus jugs of mead and ale and skins of wine, all for men coming off watch duty late at night. Already there was a line up of men there and Varys just stepped in the line and took a wooden platter and put on it a loaf of warm bread and a few apples, some ham and chicken, and then he picked up a skin of wine and no one said a word to him or gave him a second glance. The men were weary and shuffled along and then found spots at nearby tables or on the ground near fires to eat their food before crawling off to their tents. Varys sat on the ground nearby for a bit and ate some bread and a bit of ham, drank some sour red wine, and listened to the conversations. Most of the men were restless, itching to finish the fight, and go home. They were also very bored, and missed their women back west, and wondered when the heavy fall rains would really come, and on and on, complaining like soldiers had done for thousands of years.

After a while Varys stood and went off through the camp, his knapsack now filled with the food he had confiscated. He headed for a small copse of trees at the north end of the camp. He waited in shadows of the tents for the right moment, when the guards left a gap in their patrols, and then he just calmly walked out of the camp into the woods. Twenty careful minutes later he emerged on the other side, the red cloak and helmet now discarded.

Varys walked for an hour heading northeast towards where he knew the Kingsroad was. Twice he had to lie flat in brush as mounted men rode by, no doubt scouts sent out from King's Landing to make sure no surprises came from this direction. A short time after the last encounter he hit the Kingsroad and crossed it quickly then headed in the general direction of Rosby. It was a clear night and he looked up and saw the sky filled with stars. Varys had learned a long time ago to use the stars and sun to help him navigate, a useful thing to know when he was a thief in his youth, crawling over the roofs of Myr and Pentos in the night, where many roofs looked the same and streets had no names and twisting alleys went in many directions. The stars were in slightly different positions on this side of the Narrow Sea but he had learned quickly and now used them to head in a general northeast direction.

As the sky in the east started turning light, just before dawn, he walked through a field of wheat ready for harvest and came on a farmhouse. He was exhausted, his plump body not used to so much walking. He needed a rest and a horse or some other means of transportation. He could have taken one from the army but that would have been noisy and might have attracted unwanted attention. Varys sat down in the tall wheat on the edge of the field and listened for a while, heard the mooing of a cow, the clucking of some chickens. When the sun rose, a rooster crowed and then after a short time a young woman and two small children emerged from the home, the woman moving to milk the cow tied up near the house, a boy and girl moving to the chicken coop.

The woman had long brown hair tied back in a ponytail. She wore a blue woolen blouse and brown skirt. She was thin and had a long nose and was not ugly but was no beauty either. Varys stepped out of the high wheat and approached the woman. She saw him coming and stood quickly from the cow and raced to the side of her house and pick up a pitchfork.

"Stay back!" she shouted and a few seconds later her two children came running to her side. The boy looked about seven or eight years old, the girl about a year younger. Both had thick brown hair and brown eyes.

"I mean you no harm, good woman," Varys said. "I am a weary traveler looking for a place to rest."

"We got no place. Be on your way!" she said, holding the pitchfork in front of her, the two small children by her side, the boy looking defiantly at Varys while the girl clutched her mother's skirt.

"I can pay," Varys said and the woman's eyes lit up for a second.

"Pay? With what?"

"Silver."

She hesitated and then spoke quickly. "We got no food to give you," her tone softening a bit. "King Stannis' lot came two days back and took my two goats and half my chickens. Had to…had to…beg, to let me kept the cow. What we got, we need for the coming winter."

"Where is your husband, good woman?"

"Gone," she said, her face growing sad. "They took him to fight for King Joffrey. We ain't had word of him in over a moon's turn."

Varys could see it all, how the war had taken its toll on this family. First, they came for the man and put a spear in his hand and gave him some simple training. Maybe he was dead, maybe not. Then they came and took her animals. Maybe she had to give up her body to some soldiers so she could keep her cow. At least they weren't dead yet, unlike many in the Riverlands.

"I need lodging for a few hours, just to rest. I have my own food. I will pay for the lodging." Varys reached into his pocket and took out a silver stag and held it out. The boy stepped away from his mother and snatched it from his hand and took it to her. She looked at it carefully.

"Real silver," she said, her eyes a bit wide in surprise. Then she lowered the pitchfork. "Royce," she said to the boy. "Take him in and show him the bed."

"I thank you for your kindness," Varys said with a dip of his head.

The boy named Royce walked toward the small house and Varys followed. Inside there were just two rooms, a kitchen and a bedroom. The kitchen had a fireplace and a rough wooden table and four chairs. A cupboard had some wooden bowls and plates and spoons. A large bread knife was on a counter next to half a loaf of bread. A bowl held a few small apples. A chunk of yellow cheese wrapped in a cloth sat next to the bowl of apples.

"In here," Royce said. The bedroom had one big bed and he guessed they all slept together. Or maybe the children slept in the kitchen when the father had been here. The bed was made and it had a thick blanket. Varys thanked the boy and then took off his knapsack and lay down, and knew right away it was a feather bed and sighed. Chicken feathers no doubt, not as good as goose or duck, but much better than scratchy straw. Varys usually prefered a hard bed which was better for his bad back but after so much walking the feather bed felt devine. He kept his hand on his dagger under his sleeve, as he relaxed. He could have slept in the fields, but this was better, and he also needed some information and a horse or some other means of transportation. After a few moments he closed his eyes and rested.

How much time passed he did not know but when he awoke he felt refreshed. He heard people moving and talking. In a flash he was up. It was just the woman and her children in the kitchen. He smelled something cooking.

Varys stood and came out of the bedroom. The woman was cutting the bread and the children were sitting at the table. In the fireplace a small fire was burning and a pot of something was hanging over it and bubbling. She took the bread to the table and her children each snatched up a piece and began to eat.

"May I ask where the privy is?" Varys asked.

"Outside," the woman said. Varys went out and looked at the sky and guessed it was just past midday. He slept at least five or six hours. He found a small outhouse behind the farm house and about fifty feet from it. After he finished using it, he took a careful look around. There was a stone oven, with a small chimney, and a small pile of cut wood nearby, and he knew this is where they baked their bread. Nearby was a vegetable garden, mostly plucked clean. By the side of the house at the back Varys saw a wooden door at ground level, and this most likely led to a root cellar where in the cool darkness they kept their vegetables. He wondered if Stannis' men left her anything there. He looked around and spotted a well over near a tree. It had a bucket on a long rope and Varys went and dropped the bucket down and pulled it up, half full. He took a nearby wooden ladle and scooped some up and drank. It was fresh and cool and sweet. He splashed some water on his face and neck and then cleaned his hands. Varys soon returned to the house.

"I need information," Varys told the woman after he re-entered the kitchen.

"Don't know what I can tell you," she said as she stirred the pot of soup over the fireplace.

"The road to Rosby," he asked. "Is it safe?"

"Don't know," she said. "The King's men are all over the place, taking what they wants. To feed his army, they told me, to protect the realm." She was mad, he could tell, about this.

"My good woman, it is better them than the Lannisters. They would have left you with nothing and might have done worse to you and your children. You have heard what happened in the Riverlands?"

"We heard." She looked more tense now and cast a worried eye on her children.

"Who is your lord?"

"Ser Cletus, with House Rosby," she answered. "It was Ser Cletus came and took my husband to the war. Took all the local men who weren't greybeards or young boys." Varys had never heard of this Ser Cletus, but he was most likely some minor knight loyal to House Rosby.

"When is Father coming home?" the little girl asked suddenly.

"I don't know, child," the woman said in irritation as if this question had been asked many times. Then she took two wooden bowls and scooped up some soup from the pot and gave it to her children, who hungrily ate it up.

"Husband gone, half my animals taken, field full of wheat, no men to help with the harvest," the woman complained as she stood by the counter. "You tell me, what good has war ever done for us smallfolk?"

"Not much, I fear," Varys replied.

She looked at him steadily. "You ain't smallfolk. When I was a girl I served in the castle in Rosby for a year 'fore I got married. You talk like them high born folk. Not the way smallfolk talk. And you carrying silver too, and giving it away like it's nothing."

"Not for nothing. For a place to rest," Varys replied. "I would give more for a horse."

"I don't have a horse," she said.

"Old Willy Jamison's farm got some donkeys," the little boy said quickly as he spooned up some soup.

"And where would that farm be?" Varys asked in the tone he used when speaking to children, a gentle lilt with a broad grin on his face.

"About an hour walk from here," said the boy.

"To the north," the woman added. "They might sell you a donkey, if the King ain't taken them all yet."

Varys took out another silver stag and pressed it in her hand. "For your troubles, my good woman," he said and she took it without a word. He went to the bedroom and got his knapsack. "I must be going. I thank you for your hospitality."

She now looked guilty. "You hungry?"

Varys shook his head. "I have food, not to worry."

She stared at him, distrust still in her eyes, but a gentleness was there as well. "Who are you?"

"Just a weary traveler, my good woman. Again, I thank you. Soon, the gods be good, the war will end and you shall have your husband back and peace will come to the realm."

"I pray for it every night," she said, emotion in her eyes, and Varys said goodbye once more to her and her children and then was on his way, heading north.

As he walked he thought on all the poor smallfolk out there, the pawns of kings and lords and knights. Varys had been one of them once, worse than smallfolk, just a slave, working for a mummers show. Until his master had sold him to a terrible man in Myr who made Varys what he was today. And for long years after as Varys rose to become the king of thieves, first in Myr and then Pentos, his hatred for those in power grew, for those who would use their power to enslave others and make them their play things. His own power grew in time, and for years he sought power for its own sake, so he could become rich and never worry about being hungry and having no place to sleep ever again. But as he grew older he realized that was not enough. He sought to use his power to influence events. Mad King Aerys had given him that opportunity.

After a short time Varys was walking along a path though some trees and he stopped for a while and ate a bit of food and drank some of his wine. About an hour later he found the Jamison farm. The farmer was an old man who had two sons taken off to the war, leaving him with just his old wife and one of his son's wives who had a small baby girl. He had two donkeys and was reluctant to sell one and finally Varys took out a gold dragon and that sealed the deal.

The donkey was large and Varys sat well on it, but it was a bit stubborn at first and wandered off to chew on some grass or would stop suddenly for no reason. It soon got used to Varys commands and he made good time riding. Early in the afternoon he hit the road to Rosby and soon came on a small village. In a shop he bought a broad traveler's hat and a brown cloak for a few coppers. At a pub he bought some cheap wine and a bit more bread and some dried fish. Varys did not linger and pressed on towards Rosby. After he left the village he thought it best to stay off the roads in case the King's men were on it. He camped out that night under a tree, with the donkey tied to the tree as Varys slept under his traveler's cloak. It rained a bit in the night and he got a bit wet but the tree protected him from most of it.

Late that evening he came to Rosby. It was a small town, as far as towns went. The stout castle of the Rosby family dominated the town but it was not that large, and very small compared to most of the realm's castles. It would fit snugly in one small corner of Harrenhal. Around the castle were many mud and wattle buildings, with a few larger ones made of wood. One main street ran through the middle of the town, with the castle to the west of the main street, and a large square opposite the castle. Varys cut through some farmers' fields until he came in on the north side of the town, coming in from the direction of Duskendale. He did not want to come in from the west or south as that might look suspicious. As he came down the road on his donkey, he saw on the edge of town a barrier with two guards with spears and swords. He pulled his hat brim low and got into the mind set of a merchant.

"Halt," said one guard wearily. The sun was already going down and Varys knew these men had been standing here most of the day and were tired. "What's your business in Rosby?"

"I am a humble merchant from Duskendale," Varys began. "I come in search of goods to sell in my hometown."

The guard looked him over. "You don't look like no merchant, not with them clothes and riding a donkey."

"Times have been difficult, I must say," Varys replied in a tone that suggested his luck had been bad.

"Tough all over," said the other guard. "What goods you looking for?"

"Food, mostly," Varys said.

"Lot of the food has been bought for the King's army," said the second guard.

"Prices are high too," said the first guard.

"Pity," Varys replied. "Perhaps I have traveled for nothing. But I am weary and would like the hospitality of Rosby for one night at least."

"Then you shall have it," said the first guard and he pulled back the barrier and let Varys in, also giving directions to an inn.

The inn was small but a room was available for two silver stags for the night. In the common room that night were a few other travelers plus some locals. Varys sat in a corner and ate some potato and onion soup and drank some fine ale. He listened to the other travelers and local people talking, and most of the conversation was about the war.

Many rumors were floating about. The most ridiculous one he heard was that Stannis had burnt King's Landing on purpose to teach the people a lesson. Others said his red woman did it to please her fiery god, and more than one person seemed to think that was possible. They also talked about Tommen declaring himself king, which Varys knew was true. Another man down from Maidenpool told how a Lannister lord had clashed with some foreign sellswords outside the town and had killed most of them but their commander, named Vargo Hoat, had escaped. Now that was interesting news indeed. Varys knew Lord Tywin had ordered Hoat found and killed for attacking Princess Mrycella's caravan. But it seemed like the Goat had slipped away again. Or maybe it was just another rumor.

The next morning Varys went about doing some shopping. He had learned in the common room the night before that a mummer's troupe had performed at the castle that night and was camped out nearby. He went there and from the mummers bought a wig of coarse brown hair and some items that he could use to disguise his face. They thought it odd he wanted such items but the flash of silver coins in his hand convinced them to sell them to him.

Next he needed some more items for his plan to work. First thing he needed was a cart. He found them hard to come by as many had been taken for the war. Finally, he procured an old one, which he managed to get for ten silver stags, a pure bargain for the owner. At a livery stable he bought harness for his donkey for some more silver and a few coppers. Then once the man at the livery stable set up the harness for him, Varys sat on the wagon and rode to the main town square, near the castle, where the innkeeper had told him the night before he might find some willing to sell food and other items.

In the main town square many farmers and various other vendors had set up carts. Varys learned that a procurer for King Stannis was there yesterday and he had actually been paying money for food, not outright confiscating it. Varys found food prices higher than he expected, as the guards had warned him. Maybe it was because the farmers and traders had gotten a taste for money and hoped to make more. Prices were also high because of the war, he knew. With the Riverlands devastated and a lack of men to bring in crops that had survived, food was growing scarce. He also knew many farmers were keeping this last harvest for themselves, or at least as much as they could without displeasing their lords.

Varys grumbled and haggled and finally bought two barrels of pickled pork for an exorbitant price he could never recoup in Duskendale, but that did not matter, as he needed the goods for his cover to get into the seaport. He also bought a bushel of red apples, a large sack of corn cobs, and also a large amount of dyed woolen cloth. Once he bought some more bread, and a few skins of wine for himself, he was ready to set out.

No one questioned him leaving Rosby on the road to Duskendale. Once outside the town he stopped in a wooden glade near a stream and applied the brown wig to his bald head. He add some mummer's theatrical makeup to make it look like he had a wart on his chin and a scraggly mustache over his lip. With his hat pulled down tight and his cloak wrapped around him he looked like a weary wagon driver heading to market. It would not do to go about as a bald, rotund man in silks and smelling of lavender soap, at least not till he reached Pentos.

By now his disappearance would arouse suspicion in the Lannister camp, and most likely they would think he had gone over to King Stannis, to tell him of all their plans and dispositions, in order to win favor and keep his head. Perhaps they would delay their new attack, or re-think it entirely. Already, by just walking away, Varys was having an influence on events he was sure.

It took a little more than three days to reach the port, the donkey keeping a steady pace despite the load it carried in the wagon. He and the donkey ate well, as Varys did not really care about the cargo as long as it helped him play the role of honest merchant. The donkey ate apples and raw corn while Varys dined on pickled pork, and apples, with bread and wine each meal. On the road he found several patrols of men with the sigils of local lords now sworn to Stannis Baratheon. They were keeping the peace for the new King they said. They stopped him and questioned him and checked his cargo and he seemed what he was, a merchant going to Duskendale to sell his goods, so they let him pass. Varys was glad they were there to keep the road safe. On his second day he saw a man hanging from a tree with a wooden sign around his neck with one word "Thief!" printed in blood, the man's own, no doubt. Varys knew Stannis' justice would make the criminals tremble and the smallfolk happy.

Near midday of the fourth day since leaving Rosby he arrived at Duskendale, coming down over a small hill with the whole town and region spread out before him. Duskendale was a larger town than Rosby. It spread out around a harbor, with a large headland of solid rock to the south and chalk white cliffs and low hills to the north. To his right was the squat Dun Fort, with its big drum towers and squat stone keep in the middle. It was rightly famous as the place where House Darklyn had held the Mad King captive for six months during a dispute over taxes and other grievances. While Tywin Lannister's army sat outside the gates, Ser Barristan Selmy had entered the fort and found the King and rescued him. After that the fort had surrendered and every Darklyn was put to the sword. The Mad King then elevated House Rykker to the Duskendale seat. Now House Rykker's banner of two crossed black war hammers on a white cross on a field of blue hung over the towers of the Dun Fort.

Two armed men with that sigil on their chests stopped him at the town gates and after a brief discussion and inspection of his cargo he was allowed entry. A light rain began to fall as Varys' wagon clatter over the cobblestones of the town streets. He made his way to a merchant house he knew about from a visit years ago. After some haggling he sold his cargo and his wagon and donkey for a substantial loss, but they had served their purpose and he had no more need of them.

A dry inn was a welcome place to rest and Varys entered the common room and had a lunch of creamy fish soup and rye bread with a halfway decent ale to wash it down. There was one other patron, and by his dress, Varys guessed he was a sailor. The sailor spoke with the accent of one not used to speaking the tongue of Westeros as he asked the innkeeper for more ale. After a bit the man finished his drink and Varys rose and followed him out the door. If the sailor was a foreigner maybe he came on a foreign ship that would soon head home.

The rain had stopped by now and the cobblestone streets had many people in them, going about their business. The streets sloped down to the harbor and Varys counted ten large merchant ships tied up, plus many small fishing vessels and other small boats. Three of the large ships were oared galleys, and the others fat sailing cogs. The ship he had hired for his escape was not among them. Varys saw the sailor from the inn climb aboard one of the galleys and he headed straight for it.

A quick conversation with the captain and Varys learned they were bound for Myr in two days time and he wanted five gold dragons for passage, which was quite expensive. Besides, Varys had no desire to go to Myr ever again as long as he lived. Too many bad memories of that place.

The next two ships were not heading out for at least a few days or maybe a week. A fourth was about to go into dry dock to have its bottom scrapped of barnacles and seaweed. The fifth was heading to Kings' Landing with a cargo of dried fish and salted pork. Varys certainly didn't want to go there. Finally, at the sixth ship, a fat sailing cog, he found what he wanted. The captain was from Pentos and the crew a mix of men of the west and east. They were heading for Pentos on the tide with a load of woolen textiles, furs, pig iron, and dried fish. The captain wanted four gold pieces and for that Varys got a small cabin with his own chamber pot, a small narrow bunk, a whale oil lamp, all his meals, and no questions asked.

After looking over the cabin, Varys went ashore and bought a few more items for his trip, including a few candles for extra light, some new small clothes, a blanket, and a few books he found in a shop near the wharves that also sold inks, quills and parchment. Varys was not sure what fare they would serve on board the ship so he filled his knapsack with some fresh bread, pears and apples, and he bought three bottles of fine wine. It had been years since Varys traveled by ship and he was not looking forward to it, as he had a delicate stomach. Strangely, he found wine helped settle his stomach the last time he traveled by sea and so he had brought it as a seasick remedy.

The ship had two masts and many square sails. That evening before sunset as the high tide turned and the water began to flow out of the harbor, they pushed off from the docks and unfurled a few small sails and let a light breeze and the changing tide carry them out of the harbor. Varys stood on deck as the sailors scrambled about, climbing rope ladders and pulling on sails and ropes and shouting in their rough language. He watched the town's lights fading in the darkness, and said a silent goodbye to Westeros. He had come here twenty years past, to first serve the Mad King for more than five years, and then Robert for fourteen years. After him it was Joffrey for a short few months, and finally Tommen a few short days. Now he was leaving, but he knew that some day he would return, at the side of the rightful king of Westeros.

The worst of those years he spent in Westeros were at the start, with King Aerys. His paranoia grew with each passing day. Varys knew he was partially to blame for that, especially for when he believed Prince Rhaegar was fermenting rebellion against his father during the tournament at Harrenhal. Varys had information that Rhaegar was meeting some lords to discuss removing his father from the Iron Throne. Varys knew Rhaegar never liked him, and feared what would happen to himself if the Prince came to power. To prevent this it was a simple matter of whispering in the Mad King's ear what he suspected. Despite his attempts to avert the Mad King's demise, at Harrenhal it all fell apart anyway. Prince Rhaegar named Lyanna Stark as his queen of beauty and love and from that foolishness events cascaded into rebellion which saw the deaths of both the Prince and the King.

As soon as they passed the southern headland that protected the harbor of Duskendale the sea began to show its power, the cog began to rock, and Varys began to fell a little queasy.

"No stomach for the sea?" the captain asked him in the common tongue of Westeros as he saw Varys' pale face in the dieing sunlight. The captain was a heavy man, with a big black beard and a scar below his left eye. He dressed in a heavy seaman's coat and heavy boots with a sealskin hat on his head.

"Afraid not," Varys told him, trying to control his desire to retch. "How many days to Pentos?"

"A week or more, depending on the winds," the captain replied and Varys felt sick at the thought of seven or more days on this ship. "We are no galley and the gods blow the winds and make the tides and currents and take us where they will. We will get there when we get there. But fear not, I know these waters and the Narrow Sea and I am a good navigator. We will make Pentos, unless the gods decide otherwise. Lucky you are traveling now. In a moon's turn the really bad fall storms will come. I think this will be my last trip this far north until winter passes."

"A sound plan, my captain," Varys replied. "What route will we take?"

"If the winds are with us we will pass south of Driftmark," he replied. "Then make for the Narrow Sea through the Gullet between Driftmark and Sharp's Point, and then pass by Massey's Hook. There is no danger if the weather holds. But King Stannis' galleys patrol the entrances to Blackwater Bay so we may be stopped."

"Not carrying anything illegal are you?"

The captain grinned. "No. Unless you are a wanted man."

Varys chuckled. "Alas, I am but a poor merchant who is seeking new markets in the east, my captain."

The captain grinned, and raised an eyebrow. "So you say. I care not. Your gold is good. Just don't cause any trouble if we get boarded."

Varys remained calm, knowing that there was nothing he could do about being boarded and also knowing that a few men would see him for who he really was in his current disguise. Then he leaned in closer to the captain and spoke in a low voice in the Pentoshi dialect. "What news of the east?"

The captain grunted and also spoke in the dialect of Pentos. "More war, between Myr and Lys again, maybe Tyrosh as well. And news of dragons, to the far east."

"Dragons?" That surprised Varys.

"Some fool sailors from Qarth said a young girl came out of the Red Waste with three baby dragons, one on her shoulder and two sucking at her teats."

"All the dragons are dead," Varys replied.

"Just so," the captain answered. "A sailor's tall tale is all."

"Who was the girl?"

"They said she had long silver hair and purple eyes and was a beauty that would put most women to shame and break many a man's heart. The story is she was the girl who was wed to a horse lord just outside Pentos almost a half a year past, but he died in the Dothraki Sea and she fled with a few of his riders to Qarth."

Varys now knew with certainty he spoke of Daenerys Targaryen. He knew she had married Khal Drogo just outside Pentos. Illyrio had given her three dragon eggs, now petrified into stone, as wedding gifts. A gift of great value, but they could not hatch into real dragons. Or could they? He kept his face without emotion as he spoke again. "An interesting story. If true."

"Just so," said the captain. "Dragons walking the world again. That I would like to see."

"But not too closely," Varys added and the captain chuckled and then was busy with his sailors setting the sails for their voyage across the mouth of Blackwater Bay.

Varys retired below to his cabin and then drank some of his wine and lay on his bunk with the oil lamp nearby and read one of his books, a history of old Valyria. It was bland, but detailed, and recounted the Valyrian conquests and the many wars between the cites of the east after the Doom destroyed old Valyria. After a while he grew bored and blew out the lamp and slept.

The next day it was more windy and Varys spent much of it in his cabin, drinking his wine, reading his books, and trying to avoid getting sick. When there was a call to eat he went to the lower deck where the sailors slung their hammocks and also had their mess tables. A large iron stove sat in the middle of the lower deck, a black metal pipe reaching up through the wooden deck above, to let the smoke out into the air. The stove was giving off a nice warmth, and by it the cook was preparing their meal. It was salted pork, boiled, plus boiled pease and boiled potatoes, with fried onions, hard bread, and weak ale. Not the finest food Varys had ever eaten by a wide margin, but the sailors seemed to love it and ate lustily. Varys sat with them and ate as best he could, picking at his food, and endured some jests at his expense about not having his sea legs yet. They were from the east and west and spoke the common tongue of Westeros, some of them badly. Most of the talk was of the war, and who would win and how that would affect trade. After they ate, the captain ordered a tot of rum for all, and Varys took a tot as well and felt the warmth flood through him, helping to ward off the chill of the ocean air.

On the second day they passed through the narrow straight called the Gullet. They saw a galley far off to the north and behind them. It turned towards them, but the winds were strong and they soon out distanced it and it gave up the chase. Most likely one of Stannis' ships, Varys thought, glad it had been out of position to stop them for inspection. The next two days the seas were moderate and Varys felt good and spent much time on deck. On the fifth day a squall came up in the morning and they got tossed about badly and Varys finally gave in to sea sickness. His sat on the floor in his cabin, hunched over his chamber pot for hours. He tried to settle his stomach by drinking the last of his wine but it did not help as he vomited it all up again in a few seconds.

Thankfully the seas calmed that evening, and Varys slept most of the night. In the morning he drank a large amount of water from the ships fresh water kegs, knowing he had to keep hydrated after vomiting so much. The captain told him quietly that half the crew had been sick also and there was no shame in losing your breakfast in a squall like that.

Four days later, with just a few more rough patches of weather, they came into the large bay on which Pentos lay in the mid afternoon. The day was fine, the sun was shining and the winds were just light enough so they could enter the city harbor. Varys looked over the large city that sprawled along the harbor and the lands beyond. The city had many square towers and the roofs of most buildings had colorful tiles. Varys knew the city was lead by a prince from one of the forty noble families of Pentos, but it was really controlled by a council of the richest traders, and his friend Illyrio Mopatis was one of the richest.

They dropped anchor in the middle of the harbor and then waited for the health inspectors to come aboard. Two hours later they arrived and an hour after that they left, giving the ship and crew a clean bill of health. Varys knew that many years ago a plague had come to Pentos on the backs of rats from Braavos and Illyrio had lost his second wife to the disease. Since then no ship was allowed to dock without a health inspection. The cog he was on had three large cats that spent their days and nights prowling for rats in the ship's holds.

The captain raised anchor and put out two small row boats and the men attached lines to the big cog and towed her into the docks where they found an empty berth. After securing the ship to the dock, and hauling his rowboats back on board, the ship had a visit from more Pentoshi officials. The cargo was inspected and the captain had to pay dock fees, and tax on his cargo, and varies other duties. Varys knew that the owner of the ship, not the captain, really paid for all this, but the captain had to deal with the officials and the paper work. He bid the harassed captain farewell and made his way to dry land.

As he stepped off the ship his legs felt like rubber and the land swayed. He had to stop and put his hand out and rest for a moment, leaning against a wharf pillar. After a moment he felt better and walked up the street and soon found a sailors' inn and took a room for the night for three silver stags. They accepted payment in coins from anywhere, Varys knew, being so close to the docks that had sailors from all over the world.

Varys went to his room and removed his disguise. He did not want to appear at Illyrio's manse looking as he did. And it would be rude to just show up unannounced. Besides, Varys had a feeling that Illyrio would soon know he was in the city. Not much escaped his attention in Pentos.

Sure enough, by the time evening came and Varys had rested, washed a bit and removed the wig and make up from his face, a knock came to his door. He stood, went to the door, and took out his hidden dagger from his sleeve.

"Yes?"

"I have a message from a friend," came a voice in Pentoshi.

"What is the message?"

"You are invited to dinner."

"I know the way," Varys replied through the door. "Tell him I will be there shortly."

"Just so," said the voice and then he heard footsteps walking away and then Varys relaxed. You never opened your door to strangers in the Free Cities, even if they claim to come from friends.

Ten minutes later he had left his room and found a back entrance and walked through a small alley and emerged in front of the inn on the street, carrying his knapsack. Varys walked for a bit and the street was noisy and full of people, mostly sailors, coming and going from bars and brothels, staggering drunk from one to the other. A few fights broke out but the hovering city watch broke them up quickly. Mostly they left the sailors alone, let them blow off steam and blow their pay on wine and whores. Pentos depended on trade and sailors for its livelihood, so the watchmen were not too harsh on the sailors.

Soon he came to a more respectable neighborhood and he hoped to find transportation here. On the street near a large open air market Varys saw a horse drawn carriage for hire and he paid a silver stag and told the driver where to take him. The man looked at him in surprise when he said the address but then he put his whip to his horse and they were soon moving.

As he rode Varys thought again on why Illyrio had involved himself in the lives of Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen. Viserys had once promised to make Illyrio master of coin once he took the Iron Throne, but that promise died with the Beggar King after Khal Drogo crowned him in molten gold. Varys rather suspected Illyrio had other long range plans, hoping for a Targaryen victory in the west that would bring him exclusive trade rights and make him rich and more powerful than any man in the east. Varys new Illyrio hungered for power for the same reasons Varys had, to never be poor and hungry again, to never be spat on or looked down on again. He also wanted to use power to influence events, and once he mastered the intricacies of Pentoshi politics, he hungered for a bigger game, the biggest of all, the game of thrones. There were no kings and thrones to be won in the east, no one great man or woman to rule it all. Not so in the west.

Twenty minutes later they pulled up to the manse of Illyrio Mopatis. Varys tipped the driver another stag and he thanked him.

Outside the manse two large men with tall spears wearing bronze caps on their heads stood guard. They did not even speak to him but one opened the gates and Varys entered. Inside the courtyard waiting for him was Illyrio.

He was larger than the last time Varys had seen him, if that were possible. Illyrio had been a slim handsome man in his youth, his blond hair falling to his shoulders. Now he was grossly obese, with rolls of fat bulging at his waist, teats like a woman, his triple chins hidden by his beard. He was wearing yellow robes that would make a nice tent. His beard was shaped into two forks and was heavily oiled. He smiled when he saw Varys and Varys saw his crooked yellow teeth.

"My old friend," Illyrio said as he clasped Varys' hands in his fat bejeweled ones.

"It has been too long Illyrio."

"Just so," Illyrio replied. "Come. Let us eat and discuss matters. But first I think you need a bath and a change of clothing."

"Both were sorely lacking on the voyage here," Varys replied. He took a quick bath and felt much better for it and when done he dressed in a pale blue set of robes that fit well, and put on a pair of soft slippers. His feet felt wonderful after more than a week of wearing those soldier's boots.

Dinner was a gorgeous affair, as Varys knew it would be. Suckling roasted pig, fat stuffed quails, a large baked pike, buttered mushrooms, baked potatoes loaded with heavy cream, many salads and other small delicacies. Then came dessert, pies and cakes and pastries and all the wine and ale they could drink, all being the best of everything.

As they began the meal Illyrio spoke and asked about his voyage and they made pleasant small talk. Varys knew this was just the warm up to the real things they needed to discuss. Unlike in the west, the people of the east took their time with such matters, and it was considered rude to begin a discussion with the most important matters.

Finally, Illyrio got to the main point. "Things must be bad in the west for you to leave so abruptly."

"Not so abruptly you did not know I was coming."

"It so happens the ship you sailed on is one of mine."

"Ah. That explains much."

"Just so. When the captain came to make his report he explained about his strange passenger. I had a feeling it was you, old friend, once he told me you drank wine to rid your belly of its aches. Why did you leave Westeros?"

"I left because it was time to leave. The Lannisters and Stannis Baratheon are equally capable of bringing ruin on the kingdoms without my help. I also feared that my head would soon adorn a stake."

Illyrio nodded. "Then you did the right thing. I still have need of your head. And so does the Queen and the King."

Varys nodded. So we come to it. "What news of them?"

"The King is where he has always been, protected by those we trust, learning as much as he can."

"Is he ready to take the Iron Throne?"

"Possibly. But the Seven Kingdoms need more time to destroy themselves first."

"Yes," Varys agreed. "And what of the Queen. I have heard the strangest stories of her."

"Of dragons?"

"Yes."

"All true, as far as I can tell. Khal Drogo killed Viserys and then after an assassin failed to kill Daenerys and confessed he was in the pay of the King of Westeros, Khal Drogo marched south, planning to find ships to take his horse warriors to invade Westeros."

Varys knew that the assassin was one Robert had him send. Varys had done it, knowing he could not avoid it without Robert becoming suspicious. Fortunately, the assassin had failed. "Khal Drogo must have been quite angry to plan to cross the seas to Westeros."

"Just so. But he took a wound in a clash with one of his own men and it never healed properly and he died. What happened next is uncertain. After he died his _khallasser_ broke up into various factions, that much I know. Daenerys fled east, with some few followers and Ser Jorah Mormont. They emerged from the Red Waste outside Qarth. And she had three newborn dragons."

"Dragons," Varys said in awe. "From the eggs you gave her as a wedding present perhaps?"

"Uncertain. But we have heard the story from more than one sailor coming from the east."

"But these dragons are yet babes. They would not be of use in battle for a few more years. If she can control them. We must bring her and the dragons west. We must let her know she is not alone. It is time to tell her of our plans."

"I have already sent someone to help her and advise her and try to convince her to come here. An old friend of yours from King's Landing."

That puzzled Varys. "Who is this old friend?"

"Ser Barristan Selmy."

That also surprised Varys and Illyrio explained it all, how Selmy came to Pentos and found Illyrio and almost begged to be allowed to serve the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Selmy was now in disguise as a squire to a pit fighting legend called Strong Belwas and they had sailed for Qarth as soon as Illyrio knew where Daenerys was. At first Illyrio did not trust Selmy, a man who had turned his cloak before, but he knew he could be of value to Daenerys. Illyrio had also received Varys' report on how Selmy had been dismissed from the Kingsguard. With Strong Belwas to keep an eye on him, Illyrio sent the pair to the east, with instructions to find her and help her as much as they could.

"And now, my old friend, what will you do with your future?" Illyrio asked

Varys tittered. "Trying to get rid of me so quickly."

"No, you will rest here a while yet. And there is much more to talk about."

"Like who should sit on the Iron Throne. Rhaegar's son, or his sister?"

Illyrio grinned. "Two choices are better than one, or none. The son has the better claim, but no man knows what tomorrow will bring. That decision is in the future. Just so. For now, I think you would best serve our plans by going to the east as well."

Varys had not expected this. "And what shall I do in the east?"

Illyrio looked at Varys intently. "It is time for you to take your place by the side of the future King. Time to introduce yourself to him, to earn his trust. You will go to Aegon, and you will become his advisor. You will let him know of all that has gone on in the west. You will steer him to the proper course. It is time to prepare for the invasion of the west. Once there, both he and Daenerys will need your guiding hand to bring final victory and put a Targaryen on the Iron Throne once more."


	33. Chapter 33 Tyrion

**Ned Stark Lives! Chapter 33 Tyrion**

**Author's Note: **_Thanks for all your kind (mostly) comments. There will be no further updates for two or three weeks as I will be traveling in Russia. Not to worry, I will continue the tale in early September I assure you. Read on and enjoy this latest installment. Thanks much._

The road back to Harrenhal was uneventful for Tyrion and his companions and for that he was glad. He had had enough of battles for the time being and perhaps for the rest of his life. Wounded at the Green Fork, almost roasted alive at King's Landing, Tyrion had no desire to press his luck in any more fights, unless forced on him. Fortunately, they were left in peace on this journey. Despite the lack of danger, the trip had not been as comfortable as Tyrion would have liked. They had made haste, pressing on each day from dawn till near sunset, covering plenty of ground with few stops each day. Harrenhal was not under threat, as far as he knew, but Tyrion had a feeling that with Stannis Baratheon on the Iron Throne it would not be long before Lady Whent, wherever she was, would convince him that Harrenhal was her family seat and that she would like it back.

And that would not do at all for the Lannister cause. Stannis certainly knew that Harrenhal occupied a strategic location between north and south, east and west. Within its walls, if they had adequate provisions, any lord could host an army and strike in any direction. It was the key to the Riverlands and it was close enough to the Kingsroad to make travel north or south unwise. Besides, Princess Myrcella was there, and Tyrion knew for certain that Stannis wanted her head. He would make his move sooner or later against Harrenhal. It had to stay in Lannister hands.

It was their seventh day on the road, and they were on the west side of Gods Eye in rolling farm country with many small hills cut by streams flowing towards the large lake. They choose not to take the Kingsroad north as they were uncertain if Stannis was sending armed men up it or not. And his force was not as big as Tyrion would have liked. Bronn was with him, of course, as was Podrick, Shagga, Timett, and the other surviving mountain men and women, about one hundred, plus an additional hundred Lannister cavalry, all his Uncle Kevan could spare as an escort.

Shae was here as well, riding in one of the supply wagons, having left Lord Varys' service after only a few days. Tyrion could not leave her behind, not only because he cared for her, but also because he knew for certain that some lord would make her his bed warmer before long. And that would not do at all, either.

"Should get there by tomorrow afternoon," Bronn said as they rode along a rutted wagon trail near some farms.

"Sooner I hope," Tyrion replied. "My arse is tired of saddles and horses." He had traveled more in the last six months than in his entire lifetime it seemed, first to Winterfell, then the Wall and back, and after that as a prisoner to the Vale. Then the return journey from that sad adventure, after which he fought in the Battle on the Green Fork, and then served where his father needed him, at Harrenhal, at Riverrun, and then at King's Landing. Now he was heading back to Harrenhal and was wishing for nothing more than to end his tour of the Seven Kingdoms and settle down somewhere where there was peace and quiet, plenty of books and good wine, with Shae at his side.

As Tyrion thought on this he spied some people working in a field of ripening wheat. They had seen plenty of smallfolk on the way, all working in their fields, trying to bring in a last harvest before heavy rains and cold frosts could ruin them. Many avoided them and refused to even look at them, but others were bolder, and when they saw the Lannister colors they even mocked them. "Stannis going to bugger you lot now!" one old man had shouted from across a wide field. "The real King is on the throne now, not that bastard!" shouted a woman from her apple orchard. When the leader of the cavalry wanted to go off and hang her on one of her own trees Tyrion stopped him, knowing they need not give these people any more reason to hate them.

They camped in a wooded glade on a sloping hill that night, making several small camps as was usual when traveling with the wild mountain folk. After all they had been through with each other at the Green Fork and in the Kingswood, the mountain tribes still had their petty squabbles and tribal rivalries. Tyrion had once promised them the Vale for their help but he knew they would never unite long enough to ever throw Lady Lysa and her knights out of their strongholds.

Supper was hastily cooked and eaten and then those not on guard duty bedded down for the night. For once Tyrion did not feel like staying up late and drinking or trading japes with Bronn and soon after supper was done he called for Shae and they pleasured each other. A long time later, Shae dozed, but sleep did not come as easily to Tyrion. He was feeling restless, and his mind went from one trouble spot to the next trying to see a way out of all their predicaments and finding none. The only hope lay in his uncle and Jaime rousting Stannis from King's Landing before he could tighten his grip on the Seven Kingdoms.

Unable to sleep, Tyrion slid from his bed, and pulled on his small clothes and a linen shift over his head and then slipped on his boots. He poured himself some wine, a good vintage from the Arbor, and took a long swallow and filled his cup again. He stepped out of his tent and saw Pod and Bronn sitting by a fire, mugs of ale in their hands. Oh, well, drinking and japes it was.

"Tired of sleeping?" Bronn asked him as Tyrion sat with them.

"Sleep is not my friend sometimes," Tyrion told him.

"Drink more wine," Bronn advised.

"I intend to," Tyrion said as he gulped another large mouthful.

They were quiet for a moment and Pod poked the fire with a stick and then added a few more branches to it.

"What's the plan when we get to Harrenhal?" Bronn asked suddenly.

"There is no plan," Tyrion told him. "We sit and we watch and we send out patrols, all of which I am sure whoever is in charge is already doing. We will have only about three thousand men, so we won't be looking for battle."

"We should block the sewer entrance," Pod said suddenly and Tyrion knew he was right.

"An excellent idea, Pod. We wouldn't want anyone to bugger us like we buggered Lady Whent's people."

"We?" Bronn said with a puzzled look to Tyrion. "I think you mean me and Pod here."

Tyrion gave him a look of exasperated. "Yes, yes, you and Pod buggered them and I am sure you enjoyed it. You do recall it was my idea? Good. So, you two are in charge of securing that sewer entrance since you know where it is."

"Yes, my lord," said Pod, but Bronn shook his head.

"I swore to never go near that sewer again. And I still haven't seen my lordship yet for taking the big, bloody, black castle in the first place."

"When the war is over, I told you," Tyrion said in an exasperated tone. "Bronn, if we have to go through all I owe you that hasn't been paid yet we will be here all night. You do trust that I will make good on my promises don't you. You know a Lannister always…"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Bronn interrupted and then he took a drink of ale. "But what happens to me and Pod and Shagga and the rest of the lads if you get killed?"

"Then just make sure that doesn't happen." Tyrion had a feeling he had had this conversation with Bronn in the past. "When I come into my inheritance you will get it all. You will be so buried in my generosity you will have to kiss my arse for an eternity."

"Arse kissing was not part of our deal," Bronn replied. "You promised to make Pod a knight as well."

"He still needs to squire a bit longer for me yet," Tyrion said. "A few more years, what do you say Pod?"

"Whatever you wish, my lord."

"Not to worry, a knighthood shall be yours. I will even get Ser Jaime to knight you if we all survive this mess."

"Thank…thank you, my lord." Pod seemed pleased by this and Tyrion knew it would be a treat, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard knighting him. If there was still Kingsguard. If there was still a King. Our King, he thought. King Tommen.

"We must also look to Mrycella's security when we arrive," Tyrion told them next.

"She's got the big bloody Hound to look after her," Bronn reminded him.

"Yes…a man who likes his drink and his whores," Tyrion replied. "With my father dead he may not be heeding his words to remain sober. Father said that Clegane was worth twenty knights as long as he stayed away from the wine. And his brother."

"What's between them two anyways?" Bronn asked.

"You've seen his face?"

"Aye."

"Ser Gregor the noble knight did that to the Hound when they were boys."

"I think I heard that tale before. Wasn't there something else to it…a sister?"

Tyrion nodded. "There have been many rumors about the Clegane family. They are bannermen to my family but I was just a boy when it all happened. Jaime told me once there was a sister, who died in an accident. The father also died mysteriously though I know not the details of either death. Ser Gregor has also gone through a wife or three, and servants at his holdfast have been known to disappear."

"A man with a temper," Bronn observed.

"That he is."

"He's a good fighter," Pod commented.

"Indeed," Tyrion replied. "And he's ruthless. That's why Father kept him around."

"Will you keep him around when you become Lord of Casterly Rock?" Bronn asked.

Tyrion laughed a bit. "That title is still vacant and the future holder is uncertain. Once Cersei gets there I am sure she will demand to see Father's will. My Aunt Genna will no doubt show it to her, and then we will see what happens. If she likes what she sees it will stand. If not, well, Cersei is very fond of ripping up papers she doesn't like."

"Ah, well," said Bronn. "Even if you get the title you might only keep it for a short time. If Stannis and his lot get the whole Seven Kingdoms to rise up against you, you haven't got a chance."

"_We_, don't you mean," Tyrion said with a sharp look to his friend. "We haven't got a chance."

"I'm not a Lannister."

"No, but you serve us. Stannis will see no difference when it comes to loping off heads or burning prisoners alive to please his new god."

Bronn raised his eyebrows. "Aye? Is that so? Well then, _we_ had better make sure we win this war. Or run away before it gets too hot."

Tyrion nodded. "Yes, we will run if it gets too hot, do not doubt that. But knowing when to run is important."

"Where would you run, my lord?" Pod asked.

"You will run too, Pod. I could not go without you. Nor Shae. The plan is to leave Westeros and go to the east if things get bad."

Pod nodded. "I will follow wherever you go, my lord."

"Good lad," Tyrion said, happy to have one loyal person at his side at least. He looked sideways at Bronn. "And you Bronn?"

"You need ask? Besides, after siding with you lot, I won't be safe here unless you…we… win."

"How would we go?" Pod asked.

"Casterly Rock is but a stones throw from Lannisport and its harbor is always filled with ships," Tyrion told him.

Bronn snorted. "Maidenpool is but a four days ride east of Harrenhal and is a lot closer to the east than Lannisport."

"Maidenpool will most likely be controlled by Stannis before long," Tyrion said. Then he drained his cup. "Well, my good men, this is all in the future. Tomorrow we have more riding to do and now I think I am ready for sleep."

The next morning they were up early and mounted and soon after a breakfast of dried beef and hard bread and ale they were on their way. As soon as they came out of the glade of woods they could see the top spires of the vast castle off in the distance to the north. By mid-morning it was looming even bigger and by mid afternoon they had reached its outskirts. The small force picked its way through one of the old Lannister camps, where Lord Tywin's army had camped but a few weeks past. They stepped around nasty smelling latrine pits, past the blackened remains of camp fires and around the wooden stakes and ditches that had been built for defense. Rats, cats, a few dogs, and even a wolf were rummaging through the midden heaps of animal bones and scraps of food the army had left behind.

One of Shagga's men dropped the wolf with a well-aimed arrow shot that was followed by a roar of approval from his companions. In moments he leaped off his shaggy mountain pony, skinned the wolf, and slung its bloody pelt across the back of his mount. A warm coat for winter, Tyrion thought, or maybe a gift for some woman back in his mountain holdfast.

Of gifts the mountain folk had no lack of. They had three wagon loads of plunder from Stannis' camps near the Kingswood plus two large chests of silver and gold coins Ser Kevan had paid them for helping the Lannisters. Most of that had already been divided among the mountain men, and fueled their endless dice games and other forms of gambling that took hold when they grew bored.

The big black castle loomed to their right and they took a long while riding around to the front of it towards the main gate. The guards saw Tyrion and immediately opened the gates and the small force passed through the long tunnel in the thick walls and emerged in the main courtyard of the castle. Ser Robyn Serrett, the Lannister bannerman who had escorted Princess Myrcella and Sansa Stark to Harrenhal, greeted them as they came off their horses.

"Welcome, Lord Tyrion," Ser Robyn said with a slight dip of his head.

"Thank you, Ser Robyn," Tyrion replied as he looked around. The courtyard was strangely empty of men. He was sure there were three thousand men here, somewhere. "Where is everyone?"

"Resting, eating, manning the walls, making repairs, cleaning quarters, and out on patrol. We have not been idle, my lord," Ser Robyn replied.

"Good. And my niece is well?"

"I sent for her when we knew…" But then she was there, running across the courtyard, a young girl in a pale blue dress with her two handmaidens behind her and the hulking figure of Sandor Clegane a few steps behind them.

"Uncle Tyrion!" Myrcella said with a cry and ran into his arms, surprising Tyrion and bringing grins and laughter from Bronn and the wild folk, now dismounting behind Tyrion. Myrcella had to bend low to hug him and he could see she was growing and may even be as tall as her dead brother some day. Maybe even taller, now that he was short a head. Then he looked at her face and he saw pain there and fear and Tyrion smiled and kissed her lightly on one cheek.

"Fear not little one, I am here and all will be well."

"Oh, I am so glad you came," she replied, composing herself. "Are we going to Casterly Rock?"

That took him aback but he recovered quickly. "There will be time to discuss these matters soon. I must first bathe and change clothes and have some food. Then I will come to see you."

"Yes…how silly of me," she replied. "You are tired. Please, take your time, uncle."

At least she knew her manners. "Not to worry," he answered. "I will see you soon."

She kissed him on his cheek and then she smiled and turned and went off with her two handmaidens. The Hound turned to follow but Tyrion stopped him.

"Clegane, we need have words later. Join me in Lady Whent's solar in an hour."

"The commander might not like that," the Hounds replied. "It's his solar now."

"The…what?" Tyrion said in surprise. He looked at Ser Robyn, who seemed a bit abashed. "The commander is you, is it not?"

"No," the Hound answered. "That whore's son Ser Amory Lorch has taken up that duty. The new lord of Harrenhal." The Hound spat on the ground, to show his feelings on this matter.

Ser Robyn explained. "When he arrived back from hunting Hoat he immediately took over. I had not the men to challenge him."

"Did he at least find Hoat?"

"Yes, and killed most of his men, but Hoat escaped."

"Then Ser Amory is neglectful of his duties to House Lannister," Tyrion growled. " And if he calls himself commander he should be here to greet the new commander. Where is he now?"

"Dining with his men in the Great Hall," Ser Robyn told him. "He sent me here to greet you."

Tyrion fumed. That was disrespectful and Ser Amory knew it and was doing this to show he was still in charge. Tyrion was tired and dirty and hungry but this could not wait. "How many men do you command?" he asked Ser Robyn.

"But fifty."

"What of the two thousand men my uncle sent here not a week past?"

"Ser Amory took command of them when they arrived."

Tyrion fumed some more. "Well, they are all my men now. He is but a knight and I am a lord and soon to be heir to Casterly Rock. Come Bronn, Shagga, Timett. You too Clegane and Ser Robyn. Time to let Ser Amory know who is in charge here."

They found him feasting with his men in the Great Hall. The benches were full close to the dais, hundreds of men gathered here, all eating and drinking and making a babble of noise. Despite their numbers they occupied only the far end of the massive hall. The thirty-five hearths were mostly cold but at least six were ablaze, giving off plenty of heat. At the very far end on the dais sat Ser Amory and several of his high commanders, feasting and drinking. As Tyrion and his party made their way to the head table down the center aisle between the tables and benches a silence followed their footsteps until Ser Amory's companion at his side nudged him and Ser Amory noticed the new arrivals.

Tyrion had never taken much notice of the man before, as he was among the least of his father's bannermen, used for unpleasant tasks like terrorizing villagers, or killing small girls who tried to hide under their beds. Oh yes, Tyrion knew it was Ser Amory who had killed Rhaegar and Elia's daughter Rhaenys during the Sack of King's Landing, stabbing her so many times she was barely recognizable when he was done.

As silence filled the hall Ser Amory stood and raised his wine cup. Ser Amory Lorch was not tall or short, and was stout, more fat than muscle, and he had a fat face with small pig-like eyes. He wore a doublet with his black manticore sigil on it, a jeweled dagger at his side. It was not even mid afternoon and he was already drunk, Tyrion observed.

"Welcome to Harrenhal, Lord Tyrion," Ser Amory said loudly so all could hear. "Men, say hello to our newest guest, the Imp of Casterly Rock!"

That brought a few titters of laughter but mostly silence, and Tyrion knew Ser Amory had stepped too far and his men knew it as well. They were all Lannister bannermen and he was a Lannister and Ser Amory was not.

Tyrion grinned. "Yes, thank you for that most pleasant welcome, Ser Amory. I should have expected you to greet your new commander at the gates."

"New commander?" Ser Amory said in puzzlement and looked around, sloshing his wine as his body turned. "Where is he? I will surely bend the knee to him."

Tyrion grunted and then climbed the dais and turned and looked out over the crowd of men. "My good fellows, the meal is over. Please return to your duties."

For one brief moment Tyrion thought they would disobey and then he would be lost. But they all knew who he was, and many also knew he might be the lord of Casterly Rock soon. Some men took one last drink or one last bite but most quickly rose from the benches and began to file out of the hall. Tyrion turned and looked at the commanders sitting with Ser Amory. "Get out," he snarled, growing more confident, and they hastened to leave as well. Soon Ser Amory was alone with Tyrion and his men, who climbed up on the dais behind him.

Tyrion took a flagon from the head table and pour some wine into an empty cup and drank.

"The command of Harrenhal is mine," Ser Amory said as he stood glaring at Tyrion through his piggy eyes.

"You forget yourself ser and you are drunk," Tyrion replied with a cold glare at Ser Amory. "You think perhaps because my father is dead that the lion has no more claws? Think again, ser. My claws are standing with me."

"I see five men," Ser Amory said, slurring his speech. "I command three thousand!"

"Three thousand _Lannister_ men," Tyrion replied. "Are you a Lannister? No. I, however, happen to be one. And they will obey me as you just saw. So, end this farce now or find yourself locked in a cell until you sober up and come to your senses."

"You are no commander of men!" Ser Amory snarled, pounding his fist on the table. "You burnt King's Landing! King Tommen stripped you of your office as Hand of the King. Oh, yes, we have heard of that here. Stannis will soon have us under siege and you want to be in charge? I cannot allow that! Harrenhal must not fall!"

Tyrion sighed wearily. "Shagga, Timett, escort him to the cells. You do remember where they are?"

"Aye, Halfman," Shagga said and he and Timett approached Ser Amory. His eyes bugged out and he tried to draw his dagger, but Shagga grabbed him by the arm and pulled him across the table, scattering dishes and cups everywhere, food and wine spilling on the table and floor. Timett got his other arm and they soon dragged the kicking and screaming Ser Amory off to the cells.

"That was fun," Bronn said as he stepped down from the dais and sat at a nearby table and tore a chunk of bread off a half eaten loaf.

"Not so fun," said Ser Robyn dourly. He looked at Tyrion. "He will sober up and come to his senses. He has his uses, despite his pretensions of grandeur. But he will hold a grudge, my lord."

"Then we should make him short a head. Now," the Hound snarled.

"No, I think not," Tyrion told him. "Ser Robyn is right. He has his uses. But not here. When he sobers up I will send him and some men back out looking for Hoat. Or at least patrolling the Kingsroad so Stannis does not surprise us in anyway." Tyrion sat across from Bronn. "Sit, my good men, and tell me all that has gone on here."

Ser Robyn sat next to Bronn and the Hound sat besides Tyrion. The Hound immediately reached for an ale jug and took a long drink straight from the neck.

Se Robyn began the tale of what had happened. "Ser Amory came back more than ten days past and took over, claiming a great victory over Hoat's men. Of course, the Goat slipped through his fingers, but most of his men were killed and he was all alone and no more trouble, so said Ser Amory, my lord."

Tyrion shook his head. "He should have pursued him till he was dead."

"Yes," Ser Robyn agreed. "When he arrived here he started acting like he was lord of Harrenhal. Ordering everyone about, feasting every day and going through our supplies. The storehouses have much food laid in for winter by Lady Whent's people, but they were few to begin with and did not expect first your father's army and now this smaller host. The supplies won't last another two months at this rate, my lord."

Tyrion looked around and saw he was right. Every nearby table was covered in piles of food, half eaten roasted joints of beef and mutton, piles of fresh bread, jugs of ale and wine, platters of boiled vegetables, fruits, and cakes. And this was no festival or ceremony or special occasion, just an everyday meal.

"Put an end to that at once," Tyrion told him. "We must ration the food in case there is a siege. There will also be a daily ale and wine ration for each man, not to be exceeded to avoid drunkenness."

"Aye?" said Bronn. "For you as well?"

Tyrion laughed. "No, of course not. A commander must have some privileges or the men will not think him a commander." He turned back to Ser Robyn. "What news of the war in these parts?"

"Quiet, so far," Ser Robyn told him. "We send out patrols and there is nothing to report except farmers in their fields and the odd wolf pack or two. The Riverlands are weak, and too busy getting ready for winter. Most of the Riverlands lords have returned with their men to their homelands. We have heard the men of Seagard and Eddard Stark's men have clashed with some ironmen near Seagard but they are all dead or sailed away now. Robb Stark wed one of Walder Frey's daughters as well."

"I hope he found one that did not look like her father very much," Tyrion quipped. "What news have you heard of Moat Cailin?"

"Nothing new, my lord," Ser Robyn replied. "Only that the ironmen had taken it and the Stark host was moving to attack it."

"Well, that is Ned and Robb Stark's problem, not ours. What of the road west to our homelands?" Tyrion asked next. "Is it safe?"

Ser Robyn shrugged. "Uncertain. It passes close to Riverrun and they have no love of us. I would not travel it without a large escort."

"You mean to send the Princess to the Rock?" the Hound asked as he drank more ale.

"I do," Tyrion said. "You as well."

He snorted. "Good. Sitting here is boring me to death."

"The rock will be no less boring," Tyrion replied. "And my sister is in charge there."

The Hound shrugged. "She never bothered me."

True enough, Tyrion thought. As long as he kept Joffrey safe, she had no reason to bother Sandor Clegane. But then Joffrey dismissed him, for protecting Sansa Stark. Tyrion wondered if Joffrey would still be alive if the Hound had been there. He would not have been afraid to speak bluntly to him and even drag him back from the edge of the battlements, as those other two brave Kingsguards knights had been. Or maybe the Hound would have been too close to Joffrey and flung to his death as well. As he thought on this Ser Robyn was suddenly asking about the very subject.

"How did the King die, my lord? We have heard so many rumors here."

"He fell from the city walls," Bronn told him.

"Fell?" the Hound said. "How?"

"Some idiot set off an underground store of wildfire," Tyrion replied. "We know not who did it or how it happened. The explosion burnt the city and sent Joffrey and two of your brother Kingsguard over the walls as well. Ser Boros and Ser Meryn."

"Meryn was no knight," the Hound snarled, his eyes flashing. "Beating little girls. I hope he died in pain."

"Aye, he did," Bronn told him. "Ser Jaime and I found him all mangled on the rocks below the Red Keep. Stannis' men got Joffrey's body. Had his head off and on a pike. They burnt his body."

Ser Robyn shook his head sadly. "A terrible end for our King."

The Hound snorted. "He was a little shit and don't you think otherwise, Ser Robyn. I stood by him almost every day for over a dozen years. I saw what he did and who he did it to. And kept my mouth shut and hid his crimes far too long. The cruel little bastard met a just end."

Ser Robyn reddened. "He was our King!"

"Gentlemen, please," Tyrion said wearily. "Joffrey is dead and we have a new King, hopefully made of better stuff." Tyrion finished his wine. "Well, gentlemen, that is enough reminiscing for the moment. The baths await me. And then we have work to do."

As he rose, Ser Robyn asked him the most important question, "Will Stannis march on Harrenhal?"

Tyrion shook his head. "No, not until he deals with Ser Kevan and Jaime's army that sits nearby. And I have every confidence they will defeat Stannis."

Bronn followed Tyrion to the baths as the Hound and Ser Robyn left to resumed their duties. A long hot soak did Tyrion and Bronn wonders, as did fresh clothes. Bronn of course, kept his black leather armor and his weapons on him as always. After their baths Tyrion and Bronn made their way to Lady Whent's former chambers and found Pod and Shae there, clearing out Ser Amory's belongings. Two men of Lady Whent's household were carting them out and two others were bringing Tyrion's things inside.

Soon they were done and Tyrion told Pod to go off to the baths. Bronn went with him, to get some dinner, and Tyrion was left alone with Shae. She was folding his clothes and putting them in a dresser.

"Leave that be," he said to her as he sat on the bed. "Come here."

"I need a bath as well," she said, closing the drawer on the dresser.

Tyrion nodded. "Well, then…"

"My lord," Shae said quickly as she turned to him. "What happens now?"

"What do you mean?"

"Your father is dead. Do I still hide in the kitchens?"

Tyrion sighed. "Well, my sister still lives…and if she knew of you she would use this against me."

"She is far away in Casterly Rock by now."

"True, but she has a long reach."

"You fear her?"

"Not for what she would do to me, but what she would do to you."

"I can take care of myself," Shae said with steel in her voice.

He smiled slightly. "No doubt…but, she is the Queen Regent. If she tells these men here to take you in hand, they will. No, my sweet, we must continue our mummer's show for now."

"Then make me your servant. I will not go back to the kitchens."

That was the best he could do Tyrion knew. Many men who had traveled with them already knew about Shae, but he could not openly bed her or have her dine with him or sit at his side, not if he wanted to keep their respect. "As you wish. Your first order as my servant is to head to the baths and return later tonight smelling as sweet as can be."

She grinned. "And then you fuck me?"

He smiled. "But of course." He gave her a quick kiss and Shae went off to clean up. After that Tyrion waddled down to Lady Whent's solar to see what state Ser Amory had left it in.

He found it fairly clean, except for the main table, which was covered in bits of paper and parchment, and a few open books. Tyrion wondered if Ser Amory could even read. Then he noticed several small scraps of paper. Raven messages, left out in the open where any servant could see them. Now that was foolish indeed.

Tyrion sat and picked up the nearest one. A message two weeks old from Lord Edmure Tully of Riverrun concerning some prisoners to be ransomed. Tyrion tossed it to the side. Another one was from Casterly Rock, intended for his father before he marched, reporting on the reinforcements being gathered in the west. Those men were now in front of King's Landing Tyrion knew. Another, from Cersei, pleading for her father's army again, another message sent before his father had marched south. It was strange reading these notes to a dead man.

Then he looked at another one and this message peaked his interest. It was from King's Landing. It was a message from King Stannis Baratheon to the commander of Harrenhal.

"_To whoever commands the Lannister men at Harrenhal_, began the message. _I have claimed the Iron Throne as is my right as my elder brother King Robert Baratheon had no true born heirs. I command that Harrenhal forthwith be returned to Lady Shella Whent as it is her rightful seat, taken from her in an act of war. All those presently occupying Harrenhal will be free from punishment as long as this order is carried out swiftly. Any delay will result in repercussions in the future. King Stannis Baratheon, First of his Name,…_"and then came all the rest of his titles, which Tyrion ignored as he carefully re-read the message.

He knew what kind of repercussions came from Stannis. Spikes, heads, walls, that sort. Was Ser Amory getting so drunk because he feared the wrath of Stannis? Or was he drinking to build up his courage to empty the castle and march his men west to their homes? Many would like that, but it would not do for the war effort. Ser Amory had made a good show of wanting to defend Harrenhal when confronted in the Great Hall. Did he really intent to defend it or was that just a show?

Stannis should have included a promise of a lordship or a pile of gold if the castle was emptied. Maybe Ser Amory would have gone for that. Or maybe he didn't need such incentives. Maybe he had already sent his reply to King's Landing. As he was about to leave to go see the maester and find out if any ravens had been sent to King's Landing, a knock came to the solar door. A guard someone had placed there, Bronn no doubt, opened it and told him the princess wished to see him.

"By all means," Tyrion replied. He could not put her off anymore.

Myrcella entered, with the Hound directly behind her. She was all smiles and sweetness, and Tyrion was glad she did not know the horror that men like he and the Hound had to deal with.

"Come my dear," Tyrion said and she sat in a seat by the table. The Hound stood by the door, directly behind her, his face impassive. "Are you hungry? Thirsty?" Tyrion asked his niece.

"No, we had lunch not a few hours past so I am well, uncle." Tyrion was not well, as he had not eaten yet, but it could wait.

"So how are things here?" he asked her.

"A trifle dull, uncle, compared to King's Landing. But the castle is so big we spend much time exploring it and playing games." By 'we' he knew she meant her and her handmaidens.

He looked over at the Hound with a knowing look. "I make sure they stay out of the oldest and more dangerous parts," the Hound told him.

"Good," Tyrion replied. He grinned at Myrcella. "We must keep you safe."

She smiled and then her face fell a bit. "Am I going to Casterly Rock?"

"Yes. When the road is safe you and your handmaidens and Sandor Clegane and an escort of men will take you to the Rock. Your mother and King Tommen await you."

"I cannot believe Tommen is King," she said. And then she grew a bit sad. "First father died and then Joffrey. It is all so terrible."

Your father is not dead, Tyrion wanted to scream, but held his tongue. Cersei would surely pull it out if he ever told her surviving children the truth of their parentage.

"Yes, quite terrible," Tyrion replied.

"Sandor told me you told him Joffrey fell from the Red Keep into the sea. Is it true?"

"Yes. He fell. And he died."

"Oh. Did they look for him?"

"Yes." Should he tell her the rest? A bit, but not all, he decided. "Your uncle Jaime and my man Bronn saw he was dead but could not recover his body."

"So there was no funeral?"

Tyrion hadn't thought of that. No one else had either. Strange for a dead king to have no funeral. "No…not yet. I am sure your mother will do something for him in Casterly Rock."

"Yes, she must," Myrcella said. She seemed like she was upset, but at the same time, she shed no tears. Maybe she had already done so when the news had first arrived here. Or maybe she had little love for her cruel brother like Tommen.

Tyrion smiled at her. "Tommen named his donkey after Joffrey."

That made her smile as well and she even laughed a bit. Then her face fell again. "I…I have prayed to the Seven for Joffrey's soul, uncle…I tried hard to be sad he is gone…but…I am sorry."

Now Tyrion knew, remembering Tommen's words. "He was cruel to you, was he not?"

"Yes…often," Myrcella admitted in a small voice. "Once…he said he wanted to kill me."

Nothing could have shocked Tyrion more. It could not have been like that. Maybe she only imagined it. "Come, my dear, surely he only did it in jest or perhaps a fit of passing anger. He loved you and did not mean it."

"He meant it," the Hound suddenly spoke. "And would have done it if I had not stopped him."

As Tyrion stared at him in disbelief, Myrcella spoke again. "We…I…have something to tell you, uncle," Myrcella said, trying to sound formal, straightening up in her chair. "Sandor says it is time to tell the truth, that Joffrey is dead and can harm me no more. I…he…wanted to kill me when we were in Winterfell."

"Winterfell,'" Tyrion repeated, his mind a whirl. "What happened in Winterfell that angered Joffrey so much he threatened to harm you?"

"I…I…saw…," and her lip trembled and she lost her courage and the Hound stepped in.

"She saw him, talking to a strange man," the Hound said.

Tyrion had a sudden feeling he knew where this was going. "What strange man?"

"Tell him, my Princess," the Hound said to her in what passed for a gentle tone from his rough mouth.

She nodded, once, but could not look Tyrion in the eye. "Just before we left," she said, staring at the table. "I saw Joffrey in the stables, talking to the man. I was there to look at the horses. I love horses…so…I was there. I heard voices and saw them. He…gave the man a bag and I heard coins clinking in it. Then he gave the man a dagger."

"A dagger," Tyrion repeated and now he knew with certainty what she was telling him. It had been Joffrey all along. He clenched his hands into fists and struggled to control his anger.

"Then what happened?" he forced himself to ask so he wouldn't shout and scream at his dead nephew.

"The man left…I never saw his face, I don't know who he is." He is dead, not to worry, Tyrion wanted to say but only nodded and she continued. "Then Joffrey saw me. He grabbed me and threw me in the hay in one of the empty stalls and demanded to know what I saw and heard. I told him. He pulled his sword out and waved it in my face and said he would kill me. His face was so red, his eyes were so mad, and I thought he would do it. But then…then Sandor was there and he snatched the sword from Joffrey and told him…I forget the exact words."

Clegane took up the tale. "I told him if he laid a hand on the princess ever again I would tell the King all about what had just happened."

Tyrion knew Joffrey feared Robert, had known it since Robert had smashed him across the mouth when he was a boy after he had cut open a pregnant cat to see the kittens she was carrying inside.

Tyrion took a deep breath and looked at Clegane. "Did you see him give this bag and dagger to the man?"

"I was the one who found the man in the village for him," the Hound replied.

Tyrion bristled at him. "And did it ever occur to you to ask _why_ he wanted such a man?"

The Hound snarled back at him. "I did as I was bid. I did not question. I thought he was up to one of his games again. Going to steal some treasure from the Starks or some other damn foolishness."

Tyrion shook his head in disbelief and looked at Myrcella. "You know what he paid the man for?"

"He tried to kill Bran." She said it so plainly that it was jarring to hear such words from a sweet young girl.

And there it was, after all these days and weeks and all the recriminates against him by Catelyn and Ned Stark and many others. The truth from the mouths of a young girl and a dog. "Why?" Tyrion asked, still not believing it. "What did Bran do to anger Joffrey?"

"I don't know," she replied quietly. Tyrion looked to the Hound. "He never told me either, told me to keep my mouth shut about the man. I never knew what he had done till we arrived in King's Landing and soon after you were taken by the Stark woman. After that I heard stories from the man-at-arms in the Red Keep about this dagger Lady Stark's castellan was asking about. I knew then."

"And kept your mouth shut while the realm bled!" Tyrion shouted at him.

"Piss on you, Imp!" the Hound shouted back, his scarred face full of anger, as he stepped further into the room, almost behind Myrcella's chair now. "I was his shield! I could say nothing! Would the King and your sister have given him to the Starks for judgment? NO! He was the heir to the Iron Throne! The Stark boy did not die! Best to leave it be."

"Meanwhile I was almost killed because of this foolishness!" Tyrion shouted back. Myrcella winced as they shouted and she looked frightened and Tyrion slowly calmed himself. "Forgive me, my dear. I grew angry."

"It's my fault as well," she said, real tears in her eyes now. "I should have said something. But…I was scared."

He patted her hand. "No, my dear. It is Joffrey's fault. All of it. What happened to Bran, to me, to the kingdoms. He is gone now. There is no need to be frightened anymore."

She nodded and wiped her eyes. Tyrion looked at the Hound. "Take her to her quarters."

The Hound hesitated. "What will you do now you know the truth?"

That was a very good question. "Do? I should shout it from the highest battlements of this monstrosity of a castle so the whole realm knows I am innocent."

"Mother will be angry if you blame Joffrey," Myrcella said at once and Tyrion knew it to be true.

"Yes, my dear sweet sister will not like any of us accusing her dead son of attempted murder. I need think on this. Myrcella, get some rest, my dear. I will see you tomorrow."

After that the Hound left with her and for a long time Tyrion sat and brooded on what to do. Tell Cersei, and she will demand to know his evidence and when he tells her, she will scare Myrcella into silence and most likely send men in the night to kill the Hound. Tell the Starks and they will bristle and scream for justice. But what justice can they get from a dead King? But he must tell someone, so his innocence in this matter is never in doubt again. After some time he knew the only solution was to have the Hound and Myrcella put down their account on paper with ink. Then at least Tyrion would have that to back him up if he ever faced a trial over this matter.

Again a knock came to the solar door and the guard opened it. "Kitchen boy with food for you, my lord."

"Send him in." Tyrion was starving, and his mouth watered at the thought of food.

The boy came in and Tyrion recognized the chubby lad right away. It was Hot Pie.

"My lord," he said as he entered the room with a large basket.

"Hot Pie, correct?"

"Yes, my lord. Where shall I put the food?"

"Here, in front of me. I am famished. Who sent you?"

"Serving woman with black hair…I think she was with you last time you were here. Shae, I think her name is, my lord," Hot Pie replied. "Said you hadn't eaten yet."

Tyrion had to grin. Shae was looking out for him. Hot Pie placed a plate and fork and knife on the table in front of Tyrion and then took out a steaming stuffed capon wrapped in linen and then unwrapped it and placed it on the plate. He added a bowl full of buttered boiled potatoes and carrots, a small dish of fried onions, a small loaf of warm bread, two sweet jam tarts and a flagon of wine with a clean cup.

"Thank you, my good fellow," Tyrion said as he poured some wine. The boy went to turn but hesitated. "Was there something else?"

He seemed about to speak, stopped, and then spoke in a rush. "Do you remember me, my lord?"

"Of course. With a name like yours how could I forget? I thought you were going to Winterfell with the Starks?"

"I was, my lord. But I got to liking it here so I stayed. You remember Arry and Gendry, too?"

"Arry?"

"Arya, I mean. Lady Stark, except she didn't like that name."

"Yes, I recall," Tyrion said and then he knew what he wanted. "You want news of them, yes?"

"Yes, my lord. Sorry for asking."

"Not to worry. Let's see. The last I heard the Stark army was heading for Moat Cailin, so if they are with them that is where they are. Oh, and Arya's brother Robb got married to a Frey girl. That's all I know."

"Did Arya get married as well?"

Tyrion had his wine cup almost to his lips but stopped. "Arya? Married? Isn't she a bit young?"

"Gendry told me she was promised to one of the Frey boys, my lord."

Tyrion now understood what had happened. Robb and Arya Stark were promised to some Frey whelps for the use of Walder's Frey's bridge so they could bugger my father and brother's army, Tyrion thought. "No, I have not heard if she married. Though I doubt her parents would allow it until she becomes a woman."

"I guess so," Hot Pie replied and he sounded relieved.

"Had your eye on her, did you?"

He flushed. "No, my lord. I'm too low born anyways. But…Gendry liked her a lot."

Oh, that was interesting. But he knew the stern Lady Catelyn would never let her youngest daughter have anything to do with a bastard, even if he was the son of a dead king. "Yes, she was a likable young girl. Well, again, thank you for the food."

He dipped his head. "Thank you for telling me about them, my lord." And then he left.

Alone at last, Tyrion ate with gusto, his mind still filled with what Myrcella and the Hound had told him. As he ate he looked at the raven message from King's Landing again. No, I have not forgotten about you Ser Amory.

After he ate his full, Tyrion took the message and made his way down to the court yard. Bronn was there, teaching Pod some swordplay. "My dinner dishes need clearing away, Pod," he told the squire and the lad ran into the tower to take care of it. "Come Bronn, I need have words with the maester and then Ser Amory. Let's find Ser Robyn as well."

They found Ser Robyn shortly and made their way to the maester's quarters, Tyrion explaining what was in the message from King's Landing as they walked. After a quick conversation with the maester they made their way to the cells. They found Ser Amory asleep in a cell, all by himself, lying in a corner in a pile of straw. Tyrion nodded to Bronn who kicked Ser Amory in the shins.

"Wake up, you piece of shit," Bronn snarled. "The commander has some questions for you."

Ser Amory awoke, shook his head and blinked, and slowly stood up, a bit unsteady. "What does the commander what of me now?" he asked, his words slow and his body unsteady.

"To cut off your head," Tyrion told him. "For treason."

Ser Amory stared from one to the other, now more awake. "What treason? I am a loyal…"

"Spare me your false loyalty," Tyrion said strongly. "We have just come from the maester. We know what you wrote to Stannis."

Now Ser Amory suddenly seemed to sober up as well. "Whatever he told you, it's a falsehood. He wrote all the letters. He was the one who sent them. I am a loyal servant of House Lannister!"

"Loyal?" Tyrion said in mock surprise. "You told him to write to Stannis asking what terms he would offer for the surrender of Harrenhal!"

"It's a lie! I would never! The maester just wants Lady Whent to come back. He wrote that message. Not me!"

Ser Robyn bristled. "He wrote it by your command!"

"Lies! I would never be disloyal!"

"I think you think we are going to lose this war," Tyrion told him. "You're looking for a new liege lord now that my father is dead. I suppose you would rather bend the knee to Stannis."

Now Ser Amory suddenly seem to find some backbone and he snarled. "Better than bending the knee to you, Imp!"

Tyrion snorted. "That sounds like a confession of guilt. What shall we do with him?"

"Hang him," said Bronn in a bored voice.

"He must have a trial first," said Ser Robyn quickly. "Or the men will grumble."

"Yes, that would be best," Tyrion replied. "I suppose once we receive Stannis' answer we will know of his guilt for certain."

With these words, Ser Amory's pig-like eyes bulged and in a sudden movement that surprised Tyrion he reached for the dagger on Ser Robyn's belt. In a second he had it out and it was thrusting towards Tyrion's throat, as Ser Amory snarled in rage. "DIE IMP!"

But Tyrion didn't die and Ser Amory did, with three feet of Bronn's blade buried in his bowels and out his back. He screamed as the steel bit into him, and then with a foul stench his bowels released and he fell to the floor of the cell and lay there in agony.

"Finish him," Tyrion told Bronn and then Bronn stabbed him through the heart and he was dead.

As Bronn wiped the blood and viscera from his sword, Ser Robyn retrieved his dagger. "My apologies my lord. He should never have taken it from me."

"Not to worry," Tyrion replied. "That is why Bronn is here. Come, before the stench he made chokes us all. Let us find someone to dispose of him. Then I think I shall get drunk. Bronn, join me."

Word of Ser Amory's death spread quickly and by nightfall the whole castle knew he had tried to kill Tyrion and had failed. They also knew that he had planned to betray the castle to Stannis and all were angry about that. No one would miss Ser Amory Lorch.

Tyrion drank heavily with Bronn in Lady Whent's solar and he told him all about the Hound and Myrcella's story. He had to tell someone or he would explode and it may as well be Bronn.

"So you were innocent all along?" Bronn asked and Tyrion rolled his eyes.

"Of course! How many times do I have to tell you?"

Bronn shrugged. "No more now." He drank some wine and then refilled his cup. At that moment the door opened and Shae arrived. "Ah, that is my signal to leave," Bronn said and he bid them good night, taking his cup with him.

She was clean and fresh and smelling sweet and after his brush with death she fussed over him and cursed him for being stupid and then made love to him as if it was their last night together.

The next three days were uneventful, and Tyrion spent them looking over the defenses of Harrenhal, checking supplies, and dealing with many minor issues. Pod and Bronn went off to find the sewer entrance again and make it more secure. Bronn grumbled about this but went anyway and soon the task was done. Ser Robyn suggested Tyrion start dining with the men in the Great Hall to know them better and Tyrion knew he was right and so it became his habit to dine with some of the men for lunch and dinner each day. The fare was not as good as under Ser Amory but there was still enough food so no one grumbled too much. Ser Robyn also set up a training schedule so the men would not be bored, and Tyrion even opened up Lady Whent's coin vault and gave the men some overdue back pay from her piles of coins, which made him quite popular. Of course, his wild folk wanted their share as well and when they complained that he was not being generous enough he reminded them they had already been well paid by his uncle.

Each day he inspected the men in the morning, and heard the reports of returning patrols in the early evening. The nights were for Shae, however, and each evening she came to him. They drank and talked and she rubbed his legs and shoulders and lay with him and all was right with the world for a little while.

On the fourth day since his arrival at Harrenhal dawn came and Tyrion awoke. He had a bit of a hangover but he knew he had to get up to greet the day and take care of things. He was commander, after all. He stood and pulled on his small clothes and shift. He quickly awoke Shae and without being told she knew she had to leave. She dressed and there came a knock to his door before she could get out.

"Not to worry, you are my servant," Tyrion said. "Just…do some cleaning."

"As my lord commands," Shae said with a sigh and then started picking up some of his clothing from the floor where he had hastily disrobed the night before.

"Come," Tyrion said to the door and then the maester came in.

"A message my lord, from your brother. A rider came in just before dawn."

"Give it to me." The maester handed over the unopened scroll and left, not even glancing at Shae. Tyrion broke the wax seal and opened the scroll and quickly read as Shae hovered nearby.

"_Dearest brother. I have news of the war. First, Lord Varys has gone missing, the day after you left. If you see him on the road somewhere, make sure you kill him before he can reveal all our secrets. Uncle Kevan thinks he has gone over to Stannis, but I think he has just run away, worried over his bald head. Whatever the case, his talents are sorely missed. We attacked King's Landing three days after you left. We took the Lion Gate for a short time, after a party went sneaking in through the tunnels you escaped through, but we were beaten back eventually. The earthworks by the Dragon Gate we stormed as well and took them after heavy losses but then Stannis' men dropped wildfire on us from the walls and we had to retreat from that hot corner as well. We are now in a state of siege. We are close to the city in entrenchments and have many heavy catapults pounding the walls and city. We must make a wide enough breach for enough men to storm it at one go to make it count. How long this can last I know not. But we must take the city before winter comes. We have word that Highgarden may rise against us. You must make sure the Riverlands lords stay home. I will write again soon. Jaime_."

Tyrion re-read it and then sighed. "What news?" Shae asked.

"War, more damnable war." He handed her the scroll and she quickly read.

"Fuck. Varys is gone! He knows everything!"

"Quite. I am thinking Jaime has the right of it. The eunuch worried over who would win and then decided that both sides would see him dead eventually. But where would he go?"

"East," Shae said quickly. "He told me he was from Myr."

"Really? Surely you did not get that from pillow talk."

She gave him a stern looked. "Your pillow is the only one my head rests on. Besides, he is not a man. He told me when he asked me about my life."

"Your life? I know little of that story."

"It is quite boring."

"That I cannot imagine." He knew hardly anything about her except she came from the east. Not even what city or land.

"Someday I will tell you. But now, what do we do?"

He took the scroll from her and placed it on a nearby table. "First, we eat breakfast. Then I must tell the others what is happening in King's Landing. After that, we wait. Soon news may come of a great victory at King's Landing."

"And if not?"

"If not?" he repeated. "If Highgarden enters this war again, then the Lannister army must break the siege to defeat them. And the siege fails and we have a stalemate. If the rains and snows come before they can win, then the siege will fail and we still have a stalemate. But if Stannis defeats them and scatters them to the winds, we will be next in line to feel his wrath."

"Then we should run!"

"Oh, not to worry my dear. I have no intention of waiting here for Stannis to lop my head off and put it on a spike on these high walls. When the time comes we shall definitely run."

"Where?"

"East. Now, I think it is time you told me more about where you are from. I have a feeling we might end up there some day."


	34. Chapter 34 Arya

**Ned Stark Lives! Chapter 34 Arya**

The clack of the wooden swords beating together drew a crowd of onlookers soon after Arya started teaching Sansa and Jeyne how to fight. They were both quite hopeless, Arya soon decided, neither of them holding the sword right, standing wrong, moving too slowly, laughing too much, and acting like it was a game. After a while she grew angry. Gendry was standing nearby with Robb, and both of them were laughing with several off duty soldiers, and that made her even angrier.

"Stop! Stop!" Arya yelled as Jeyne grabbed Sansa's wooden sword by the blade and the two starting giggling and fighting over it. They stopped and looked at Arya.

"Is it wrong?" Jeyne asked and both Gendry and Robb burst out laughing even harder. Arya gave them a dirty look which quickly silenced Gendry but not Robb. She glared at him and finally he stopped as well.

"Help me teach them or go away," Arya told her brother and stared at him with her lips pursed tight. He nodded and stepped forward.

"You'd cut your hand badly," Robb told Jeyne as he took her hand off the wooden blade. She smiled at him and stepped back clumsily. "Never grab a sword by the blade unless you are wearing an armored gauntlet."

"Yes, my lord," she said, her cheeks turning a bit pink and her eyes glowing as she looked at Robb as he backed away again. Oh, brother, Arya thought, she still has a crush on him. Doesn't she know he's married now? Arya stepped towards them. She took Sansa's hand and moved it into the right position to hold the sword. Then she moved Sansa's body into the right position as well.

"Like this, side face, so you present a smaller target."

Sansa nodded, and then tried to look serious but giggled again and Arya scowled. "Oh, Arya, I'm sorry." Sansa said and then she stood like Arya had shown her and tried to be serious again and then made a scary face at Jeyne who burst out laughing and then Sansa laughed as well.

"You asked me to teach you!" Arya said in anger to the two of them. "If you don't want to learn what Syrio taught me, then forget about it!"

"Who's Syrio?" Jeyne asked.

"My dancing master…I mean, my sword fighting teacher. At King's Landing," Arya told her and then thinking of Syrio made her remember all he had taught her and how it had saved her life more than once. It also made her sad, thinking he was dead now.

"A good man, he was," said Eddard Stark, as he came from behind some men. They all dipped their heads to him and he nodded in return. He looked at Sansa and Jeyne. "You would do well to listen to Arya, girls. What Syrio taught her came in good use this last while."

"Oh, Father, we are safe now, aren't we?" Sansa asked. "There will be no more fighting, will there?"

"Not today," Ned Stark told his eldest daughter. "But no one knows what the morrow may bring."

Arya knew he was right. No one knew what the morrow would bring, ever. The Battle for Moat Cailin was behind them and they were heading home, but they were still a good week's marched from Winterfell. And the realm was still at war.

They were encamped in a barren hilly area off the west side of the Kingsroad and it was getting near nightfall. The days were growing shorter and the air was getting colder as well. They had a few days of heavy rain already and more would come her father warned them. Winter was coming, and there was no doubt about that now.

After they thanked and said goodbye to Howland Reed and his people, they marched north and the army started to go its separate ways. First the men of Barrowton and the western lands began to head home. With them went some of the ironmen prisoners who had surrendered at Moat Cailin. Her father had decided to break them up to forestall any insurrection. Each great house would take two or three prisoners, and hold them until Balon Greyjoy bent the knee once more.

Then the day after the march started they met the very fat Lord Manderly, riding in a luxurious wagon, with a strong escort of knights and men, and with many supply wagons behind them. The knights and men were for the three towers of Moat Cailin as was some of the food, and they continued south after a short rest. The rest of the food was for the fat lord and the remains of the Stark army and they were glad to have it. That night they had a nice feast, but during it there was some tension between lords Bolton and Manderly. Arya had heard something about Bolton's base born son and the Hornwood lands, but did not understand it all. They stayed put for two days as her father tried to settle this issue, and eventually both Bolton and Manderly seemed satisfied with what her father told them and Manderly returned to White Harbor.

It was during this pause in their journey that Gendry finally got around to asking her about what she had said to him back when he went off north to help them take Moat Cailin. They were walking through some tall grass just outside camp, near nightfall, trying to find Nymeria, who had wandered off. Arya could sense she was nearby and was calling to her but she didn't come.

"Where are you?" she shouted in frustration.

"Can you feel her?" Gendry asked.

Suddenly Arya felt her, strongly, in her mind and then she knew Nymeria was hunting. She had the scent of a deer, in a far off forest and she was stalking it. For a few moments Arya felt the rush of the scent of the deer and her whole body felt like bounding off through the forest to chase it. Then she came back to herself and she was falling in the grass. Gendry was by her side in an instant.

"Arya!"

She sat up, smiled at him. "I'm fine. Just…went away for a bit. She's hunting a deer."

He sat on the grass by her side. "You have to be more careful when you go away like that. If you were in a tree or climbing something…it could be bad."

She nodded. "You're right. But sometimes it just happens. I can't control it."

"Maybe you can learn how."

"Could be. Maybe Maester Luwin knows all about it. He's the smartest man I know."

"He's in Winterfell, yes?"

"Yes," she said, excitement in her voice. "Soon we'll be home."

"Good. I'm so tired of traveling."

"Me, too," Arya said. Then she looked at him, and she couldn't help but smile, knowing he was coming with her and would be there every day. She reached out and took his hand and for once he didn't tell her to stop. They were sitting in the tall grass and no one was nearby that could see them for a change. He squeezed her hand back and they looked at each other for a long moment.

"Arya…about what you said…"

She knew what he was referring to. It had been more than two days since she had come back to him and he hadn't said anything yet about this, but they hadn't been alone yet either.

"I meant it," she quickly told him.

He gulped and blushed a bit. "I…I couldn't say anything, not when your family was there."

"I know."

"But…I feel the same."

Arya felt her heart pounding and she gulped as well. She also felt like crying but held back her tears. "Then say it. Say it like I said it to you."

He lifted her hands to his lips and kissed them and looked at her, his blues eyes piercing her very soul. "I love you, Arya Stark."

She let out a small gasp and then flung her arms around his neck and hugged him tight and he held her for a long time. "Don't ever leave me again," she gasped.

"Never," he replied. And then she looked at him, and kissed him once, quickly, on the lips, and he didn't pulled back or tell her to stop, and then she hugged him again.

Gendry stood and held out his hand and she took it and he helped her up and she stood as well. Arya sighed deeply, feeling so happy.

"What do we do now?" Gendry asked her.

She knew what he meant. "We wait," she said. "Until I am a woman. And then…then…"

"Then we have a heap of trouble," he said and she sighed, a sigh of deflation from her earlier elation.

"Yes…a heap of trouble. But I don't care."

"Neither do I."

She looked at him again, standing there so tall and strong. "Gendry…I'd run half way around the world with you if it comes to it."

He shook his head. "No…we won't do that. Your parents would never forgive you and only the gods know what they would do to me."

She knew he was right. Robb had pretty much said the same thing. "Then what do we do?"

His face screwed up like when it did he was thinking hard and Arya let him be for a moment, keeping silent, and finally he spoke.

"We face them, and we do it right," Gendry said. "Or we will never have peace."

She took his hand and squeezed it again and knew he was right, and felt a thrill because she knew that this stubborn bullheaded fool she loved would stay and fight for her and confront her parents and the Freys and anyone else. But she fretted on what would happen. Her father was on her side, she knew, and her mother was slowly coming around, but Arya still had no idea if they would ever let her choose Gendry as the man she wanted to spend her life with. And then there were the Freys. They would be so angry and only the gods knew what they would do. "What if they all say no?" she asked him in a worried voice.

"We find a way to make them say yes," he told her and then she remembered her mother's words at the Twins, describing the kind of man she wanted her daughter to marry, and she knew Gendry was all of those things she had said. She knew she was not yet a woman, was still a girl in many ways, but she also felt something so strong for him she could not explain it. It had to be love, didn't it? She cried when he left her, she nearly died with fear when he had been hurt by the ironmen, and she had stood by his side at the holdfast and on the forest trail as men tried to kill them both and they had fought and had lived.

As they stood there Arya got another powerful feeling of Nymeria. She had made the kill and was eating deer flesh. It was just for a second and her eyes rolled back in her head and Gendry was grabbing her and holding her tight.

"She is feasting," Arya said as she came back to herself. "I think she will be fine. She will eat for a while yet. Let's go back to camp."

That had been two days ago. Now the army was growing smaller and Winterfell was growing nearer and it would soon be all over. But the war still went on in the south and they had had no more word of what had happened. Lord Manderly had told them some more news, about the battle, and the fire cause by the wildfire explosion, and how Joffrey had fallen from the Red Keep into the sea and had died, but that was all they knew and that news was already old by the time it reached White Harbor and then their ears.

"It's getting late," Arya's father was saying, looking to where the sun was hanging just above the horizon to the west under a low cloud bank. "Practice again tomorrow."

Robb took the two practice swords from Sansa and Jeyne and then they started to head back towards their tents. Arya looked at Gendry, standing nearby. "See you in the morning."

"Yes," he said with a smile. "Sleep well."

"You, too," she said and smiled at him too and then he turned and went off towards his forge and his tent.

Sansa and Jeyne ran ahead of them, running and laughing and Arya scowled again.

"They aren't serious," she said to her father and brother as they walked beside her.

"No," said her father in his grim way. "They have had some trouble but have not known it like you have my child, and I hope they never do."

"Some day they might," Robb said and he was getting as grim as their father, Arya thought for a second.

"Then it is our job, my son, to keep the peace and make sure that never happens."

"And what's my job?" Arya asked and then her father laughed and ruffled her hair just like Jon used to do.

"My warrior lady, your job is to make sure your sister and Jeyne learn how to defend themselves."

"They're hopeless!"

"Today was just the first day," Robb told her. "Did Syrio give up on you after the first day?"

"No, but I wanted to learn."

"Then you must make them want to learn as well," her father said. They soon reached Robb's tent and Roslin was waiting for him and he bid them good night after handing Arya the practice swords. Up ahead Sansa and Jeyne found Catelyn Stark outside the tents and by the big table set up for the family under a pavilion. They sat at the table and the girls were talking to Lady Stark and eating some bread and cheese. Arya felt a bit hungry, not having eaten much for supper. As she was about to run to the table her father asked her a question.

"Did Jon have Mikken make Needle for you?"

The question surprised her. He had asked her once in King's Landing where she had gotten the sword and she had avoided the question. She felt that telling him would betray Jon.

"I…I can't say."

"Arya, I'm not going to be mad at Jon. I just want to know the truth of this and you know Mikken will tell me when we get to Winterfell."

"Oh. Well…then yes…he did."

"Why?"

"I…I don't know really. He said he wanted me to have it, a present. I guess it's because Jon understands me, Father. He knows I don't want to be a lady and that I love horses and swords and all that. So…he gave it to me."

"A good thing he did. Show me Needle."

She dropped the practice swords to the ground and took Needle out without hesitation and handed it to him hilt first, the proper way Syrio had showed her. He took it and held it and looked at Needle in the dying sunlight. "A fine blade, a worthy blade for a name. When I see Jon again I must thank him much for this. It saved your life."

Arya was glad he was not mad at Jon. "Will we see him again? Soon?"

He sighed and handed back Needle. "I know not my child. The Night's Watch does not give its men leave to see their families. Otherwise few would come back. And the penalty for desertion is death."

"Then we can go to the Wall to see Jon, can't we? I really want to see the Wall!"

He nodded. "Maybe someday. When we are settled and if we have time before winter comes."

Arya smiled and said she'd like that and put Needle in her belt. Then she took the practice swords and placed them by her tent and then joined her father again. They went to the table and joined the others. They had some bread and cheese, and he had some ale and Arya drank a cup of water. Sansa was telling their mother about sword practice.

"And then Jeyne grabbed the blade!" Sansa said with a laugh.

"It's only wood," Jeyne said.

"You should practice as if they were real swords," Arya told them. Her mother looked at her sharply.

"Was this your idea, sword practice?"

"It was mine," Sansa said quickly. "I asked her to show us."

"Ladies do not carry swords," Catelyn Stark said with a shake of her head.

"Let them learn," her husband told her. "If Arya had not learned how to defend herself she would not be here now."

"Yes," Catelyn replied, her tone softening. "I know. But the war is over for us and we are going home. Arya, when we get to Winterfell you will put away that sword and start dressing properly."

Arya wanted to say no, but knew that would cause a fight and the last thing she needed was to get her mother mad at her, especially since she wanted her mother to grow to like the idea of Arya and Gendry being together in the future. "Yes, Mother," she said like a dutiful daughter and her mother looked at her suspiciously, as if expecting a fight, but then just nodded once.

"Good," she said. "Girls, we have a long march again tomorrow. Eat up and off to bed with you."

Ten minutes later Sansa and Jeyne and Arya were in their tent, huddling down under their blankets. There was the beginnings of a chill in the air as it grew darker and outside it started to get windy. Arya lay on her back for a while, thinking about what her mother said about putting away Needle and dressing like a girl again. She did not like that one bit, but would do it if it meant keeping on her mother's good side.

"What's it like to kill a man?" Sansa suddenly asked from the growing darkness and nothing could have shocked Arya more. Jeyne also seemed surprised and gave a little gasp.

"Sansa! What a question!" Jeyne said in obvious shock.

"Does it seem so strange?" Sansa asked. "We have all seen dead men, more than our share in these last weeks, haven't we?"

"Yes, and I never want to see one again!" Jeyne told them.

"Why do you want to know?" Arya asked her sister.

Sansa sat up and then Arya and Jeyne did as well and they could just see each other in the gloom. "I just want to know," Sansa said. "Tell me, Arya."

"I…don't know. I mean…I don't know how to describe it."

"Oh," said Sansa, sounding disappointed.

"I mean…I was scared, at first," Arya told them. "But Syrio says fear cuts deeper than swords, so I learned to master my fear."

"How?" Jeyne asked.

"You breathe slowly, and remember that they are scared, too," Arya said. "And you remember that you have steel in your hand, and then you feel strong and you say, 'Not today. I will not die today'."

"Not today," Sansa repeated.

"And then…sometimes the battle madness comes. That's what Robb called it. He knows."

"Battle madness?" Jeyne asked, in puzzlement.

"Time stands still," Arya told them, thinking about it and trying to put it into words. "Every little movement seems like it is in slow motion. The blood rushes through your body and you feel so strong. When I stabbed the gold cloak that was trying to kill Gendry at the holdfast, I felt as if I had the strength of twenty men and that I could kill every gold cloak in King's Landing. That's the battle madness, I guess."

"You saved his life," Jeyne said.

"He saved mine as well," Arya told them. "From the ironmen."

"It all sounds so romantic," Sansa said with a sigh of longing in her voice. "I wish some noble knight would save me some day."

As Arya rolled her eyes, Jeyne laughed. "Gendry's no knight. Besides, didn't the Hound save you on the Kingsroad?"

Arya growled. "He's no knight, either. He's a murderer."

"He saved me, Arya," Sansa said sharply, and Arya knew she would never agree with her hatred of the Hound. Arya also wanted to say Nymeria and I saved you too but knew not to say anything about their warg powers in front of Jeyne.

"He did save you," Arya finally conceded. " I still hate him, though."

Sansa sighed again. "Yes, he has done many terrible things. I wonder where he is now."

"Still at Harrenhal, I am sure," Jeyne said. "Guarding the Princess."

"I bet they will go to Casterly Rock," Sansa said. She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I heard Father and Robb and Lord Bolton and the others talking about it this morning. They said Tommen declared himself king and is now at Casterly Rock and that Myrcella will go there too because Stannis wants to kill her!"

"Poor Myrcella!" Jeyne said in a worried voice.

"Tommen is king?" Arya said in surprise with a shake of her head, trying to remember the chubby little boy who had walked beside her when they entered the great hall at Winterfell during the feast for King Robert. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

"Now Stannis and the Lannisters will fight again for King's Landing," Sansa told them next.

"It's all burnt," Jeyne reminded them.

"Wildfire," Arya said and all the camp had heard the story from the White Harbor people of how King's Landing had burnt.

"They both want the Iron Throne," Sansa said after that and then Arya remembered something that made her laugh.

"What's so funny?" Sansa asked her.

"Something Gendry said, when we were at Harrenhal. He said that all the kings were stupid, even his father. He said that at least one of them should have taken the Iron Throne to a smith a long time ago and beaten all the sharp edges and barbs off of it."

"But…it's the Iron Throne," Sansa said in bewilderment. "You couldn't do that to it!"

"It's just a chair," Arya replied calmly and both Sansa and Jeyne gasped.

"It is not!" Jeyne said. "It's the symbol of power!"

"Yes!" Sansa said strongly. "Whoever sits on it commands the Seven Kingdoms."

"How many of those Kings have cut themselves on it?" Arya asked. "A lot, I bet."

"Did King Robert ever cut himself?" Jeyne asked.

"I don't know," Arya answered. "I think he hardly ever went near it."

"It's so terrible he never said Gendry was his son," Jeyne said quietly.

"No, it's not," Arya replied. "The Lannisters would have killed him if they had known."

"Why?" Jeyne asked.

"To protect Joffrey's claim," Sansa told her. "But that doesn't matter now. He's dead, too."

"Thank the gods," Arya said with undisguised joy in her voice.

"Arya!" Jeyne said in shock. "Your sister was going to marry him!"

"No…she's right," Sansa told her friend. "I know we should not speak ill of the dead but I am glad he is dead as well. I thought I loved him and I thought I wanted to be his queen…but he was cruel and evil."

"Yes, he was," Arya said, feeling bad for Sansa. "Mother and Father will find you a good man for a husband, a true man, brave and strong."

"I can only hope, " said Sansa in a sad voice.

"Like they picked Elmar Frey for you?" Jeyne teased Arya.

"Seven hells!" Arya said. "I hope not. He's just a boy."

"He will be a man some day," Sansa told her. "And he will come looking for you."

"That's what I am afraid of," Arya replied in a downcast voice. Then she cheered up a bit. "But that is a long way off."

"Go on ask her!" Jeyne suddenly said to Sansa, as if they wanted to know something. Sansa and Jeyne both wiggled across the ground on the blankets laid on the grass, while still under their top blankets. They came closer to Arya, soon right by her side.

They giggled a bit and then Arya got mad. "What? What do you want?"

"You must tell us true, Arya," Sansa said in a very low whisper. "Did Gendry kiss you yet?"

"NO!" she said, a little too loudly and startled them. "I…I kissed him. Twice." Well, it was three times but once was on the cheek so Arya didn't count that.

They gasped in shock and then started laughing and then Jeyne was trying to ask another question but couldn't stop giggling. "Tell…tell us…what…what …what did you say to him when they left for the attack? He turned so red!"

Arya had enough of their silliness. "Nothing! Go to sleep!"

She rolled over in her blankets, turning her back on them. "I'm sure she said she loved him!" Sansa whispered with a sigh. "Why else would he turn so red?"

"Go to sleep," Arya grumbled, burying herself in her blankets. Then for a long time Sansa and Jeyne lay awake whispering and giggling and then finally Arya fell asleep.

The next morning was very cold and a bit windy and as Arya climbed out of their tent she felt the biting chill of the air. She pulled her arms tight around herself and then in the predawn gloom she saw a nearby fire with a figure huddled next to it. It was her father, standing wrapped in a heavy cloak and staring off towards the north. She walked over to him, feeling the heat of the fire as she got closer. He saw her coming and smiled, and his smile was warm and genuine and Arya always liked it. She had not seen it often since they left Winterfell some months back and now that they were getting closer to home maybe her father would let go of some of his grimness.

"Good morning," he said as she stood with her arms wrapped around herself. Arya tried to reply but her teeth chattered and Eddard Stark immediately took off his cloak and wrapped it around his daughter's shoulders. It was so big it surrounded her short thin frame with ease and she immediately felt better.

"Winter is here, isn't it?" Arya asked. She had never seen a winter, or at least remembered it, having been born near the end of the last one.

"No, my daughter," Ned Stark replied. "This is just the fall winds. The rains will come, and the leaves will turn colorful, and then they fall, and then the frosts come at night and finally the light snows and then the heavy snows. When they come, winter will truly be here. And may the gods give us time to set our house and lands in order before that happens or we will be lost."

"Winterfell has plenty of food, doesn't it?" she asked.

"Aye, for certain, but no man or woman knows how long winter will last. The smallfolk say a long winter oft follows a long summer. And this summer has been so very long."

"What was winter like when you were my age?"

He grunted. "Very cold and snowy but they were short winters, none more than two years as I recall. My father always prepared us well and the north people are better adapted to winter than the rest of the realm."

"What was he like?" she asked. "Your father. My grandfather, I mean."

He was silent for a long moment and Arya wondered if she shouldn't have asked him about his father. "I'm sorry…"

"No. It's fine. It is good you should know about your family. He was a good man, a strong, proud man, who was cruelly murdered by the Mad King."

"I know the story." She had heard it often enough while growing up from her older brothers and from Septa Mordane.

"My brother died the same day," her father went on, his grimness now settling over him again like the cloak she wore. "In one moment I went from being second in line to Winterfell to being Lord of Winterfell. I was but a few years older than Robb is now."

Arya didn't know what to say so kept silent and warmed her hands over the fire. She knew what had happened next. Robert Baratheon raised his banners and her father raised the North to join him and they went to war against the Targaryens.

They were silent for several minutes, looking at the fire as the sky grew lighter. Then her father touched her shoulder. "Come, let us break our fast."

He walked over to the table in the pavilion where a servant had already laid out bread, meat, cheese, boiled eggs, dried fish, ale and water. Two coal braziers within were lit and glowing hot and it made the pavilion warm and cozy. They sat opposite each other and her father poured her some water in a wooden cup and put meat and bread and cheese on a pewter plate and handed it to her. Arya drank her water and then she placed the yellow cheese on the bread and put a slab of cold beef on top and ate it with gusto.

"We will ride in two hours," her father told her as they ate.

"How long till we reach Winterfell?"

"Another week, maybe less," he replied.

Arya could not help but sigh. "I wish we had never left."

"Aye," her father replied. "A fool's errand I went on and dragged you and Sansa with me."

"It's not your fault." She could see it bothered him still that they had all been placed in so much danger.

"It is kind of you to say so my child, but when a lord makes a decision then he must accept the consequences of that decision, whether good or bad."

"The Lannisters are to blame."

"Aye, and so are many others."

"Who?" she asked eagerly. "Baelish, you mean?" She had heard how Lord Baelish had blamed Tyrion Lannister for the dagger that the man had used to attack Bran and her mother.

"Him especially," her father said, and there was anger in his eyes now. But then his face softened a bit. "But enough of that. Are you going to practice today?"

"Yes. First I'll go to the forge."

He smiled when she said that. "How is Gendry?"

Arya couldn't help but blush a little thinking on him. "He's well."

"Good. He did us a great service when he built that shield shell. We would never have taken the Moat without it. Or would at least have suffered many more losses."

"Maybe you can reward him," Arya said in an offhanded way, and then she drank some more water.

"Aye, I've thought on this. What would he like do you think?"

"I don't know," Arya replied. Then she had an idea. "I'm sure he would like a new set of tools when we reach Winterfell. He had to leave most of his behind in King's Landing."

"Very well, he shall have them if a set can be found. If not, I will have Mikken make him some tools. Also, I was thinking he should apprentice to Mikken for a while."

"He'd like that."

"Then he will live in the main castle."

Arya liked that idea and smiled but said nothing. He father looked at her steadily and she suddenly realized he wanted to talk about her and Gendry and her smile fell from her face as she waited for him to continue.

"My daughter," he began. "Tell me true. Does your heart truly belong to him?"

She felt her face grow a bit hot and she hesitated, wondering what he would say, but she knew she couldn't lie to him. "It does, Father."

He nodded once and there was a slight grin on his face. "Very well. But you know my rules until you become a woman and are married."

Now Arya really blushed, knowing he meant they should have no physical contact until marriage. At the same time she felt very excited. Was he saying what she thought he was saying? "Married? You mean…you will let me marry Gendry?"

He grinned. "If he asks for your hand when you are the proper age I will not refuse him."

Now Arya felt a burst of joy flow through her body that warmed her more than any fire or brazier or cloak could. Then something worrisome made her feel the chill again. "And Mother?" she asked.

"If she refused, what would you do?"

She remembered what Gendry said a few days ago. "Make her say yes. Somehow."

"Good," her father told her. "Because I know you are strong willed, my wolf child. And running away with your man would cause a lot of anger and trouble."

"He already said he would never do that."

"I knew he was a smart lad. As for your mother, she is slowing coming to agree with me."

Once more Arya felt excited but then she remembered something else. "And what about Elmar Frey?"

Now her father looked a bit troubled. "This is a problem. But his father has counted ninety name days and by the time winter is over and you are ready for marriage, perhaps the gods will take him for his final rest. Then I will find a way to break your betrothal. Stevron Frey will become lord of the Twins after his father passes. He is a reasonable man, more so than his father."

As he spoke Arya saw that all she wished for might come to pass and she wanted to leap and jump for joy and cry at the same time. She came from around the table and hugged him tight and said thank you over and over and told him she loved him and he laughed and grinned at her and told her the same.

After that her father went to rouse the army and Arya went off to the forge, leaving behind the cloak as the rising sun made it warmer. As she made her way through the tents Nymeria came loping into view from near the edges of the camp, two wide eyed guards looking at the large animal with their spears gripped tight in their hands. All of the soldiers knew that Nymeria and Grey Wind were not to be harmed and would not hurt them but that still did not help calm their fears when they sighted the two large direwolves.

"Good girl," Arya said to her pet as she bent and ruffled her fur and Nymeria growled in appreciation. Arya closed her eyes and for just a second slipped from her skin and entered Nymeria and with a small shock she saw she was looking at herself. Her still short hair was sticking out and was matted and greasy. Her long face had some streaks of dirt on it, most likely soot from the fire. Her boy's clothes were also a bit dirty and looked kind of ugly now that she thought of it. Gods, she was off to see the man she loved looking a frightful mess! Wait. I'm not one of those girly girls, Arya thought. I don't want to dress like Sansa and be a lady. Do I?

Then Arya slipped back into her own body and with another shock realized she hadn't collapsed this time. It had only been for a second or two, but she had stayed on her feet and had not fallen at all. She ruffled Nymeria's fur again and then he was there beside her.

"Morning," Gendry asked as he bent to her side and also ruffled Nymeria's fur. His hand accidentally touched Arya's and she looked at him and smiled and then remembered her face was dirty and her smile fell.

"I…I have to go," she said as she stood.

He stood swiftly and was puzzled. "Arya? What's wrong?"

She was halfway to turning around and stopped. She couldn't look at him and wanted to kick herself for feeling this way but suddenly she wanted to be beautiful and look like a lady for him and she didn't know why. "I'm…I'm a mess," was all she could say in a quiet voice.

"No, you aren't," he said. His voice dropped to a whisper. "You're beautiful."

She gulped and was sure her face was red. "I'm dirty. These clothes…they're boys clothes. I'm not very pretty."

"You are to me."

She looked up at him and smiled and he smiled back and it made her feel warm inside. He was just as dirty as she was, maybe more so. He had soot on his cheeks and his hair was matted and greasy as well. His beard was growing again and made his face and strong square jaw look very manly. His clothes were also a mess and as she looked around at the soldiers waking up and getting ready to eat and break camp she saw that the whole army was in rough shape, months on the march and in battle making them all a little worse for wear. She had been silly, she realized.

"Sorry…just feel like I need a bath. For about a week."

Gendry laughed and she liked his laugh. "We all do. When we get to Winterfell I will soak for a week as well."

"There's lots of hot water in the castle. There are some springs under it and Winterfell is always warm. You'll like living in the castle."

He stared at her. "Me? Living in the castle?"

"My father said you will apprentice with Mikken, the Winterfell smith, so you will live in the castle with him."

"Oh. Right."

"We can see each other every day."

He grinned. "Good. Be like old times. Back at Harrenhal."

"Well…a bit different," Arya said. "Winterfell is big but not that big. And it's not all in ruins."

"That's good."

"Come on. Let's go to the forge." They walked over to where it was set up and Nymeria followed them. Tim and Duncan were eating their breakfast of bread and dried fish off the back of the forge wagon. Tim gave a little start as he saw Nymeria.

"Nymeria won't hurt you," Arya told him, for the tenth time it seemed.

"I know, my lady, but he still scares me."

"She," Arya said. "Nymeria is a girl. And don't call me a lady."

"Yes, my…yes," Tim said, and Arya knew he was a bit confused by this lady of Winterfell acting like smallfolk. She hated being a lady, but for a few moments back there with Gendry she had wanted to be one, to be clean, and dressed like a lady and smelling nice and then…what was happening to her? Was…was she finally becoming like Sansa? Seven hells!

And then she had a sudden urge to tell Gendry what her father said about marriage. But…wasn't he supposed to ask her? Was it too soon? Was she still too young? No, that wasn't true. She was already betrothed. And that was the problem. Maybe Gendry would never ask for her hand because he knew she was promised to another. It was too confusing and when Arya got confused only one thing would calm her: Needle work.

As Gendry joined the others in eating breakfast, Arya took out Needle and stood off to the side and practiced. She moved in all the ways Syrio taught her and moved like a cat and a water dancer and in her mind she kept repeating his words and found a calm center as she shut out the world around her and forgot about all the thoughts raging inside her heart and mind. Fear cuts deeper than swords she repeated in her head and then with a certain clarity she knew she was afraid, very afraid, of the future, afraid that what her father had promised might never come to pass, that somehow in someway they would force her to marry the Frey boy and she knew her heart would break in two if that happened.

Try as she might the fear would not go away and she stopped practicing and stood still and then she looked over at the forge wagon where Gendry was talking to Duncan as they looked at the wagon's wheels, checking the spokes. What in seven hells has he done to me? Arya thought. It had to be love. It just had to be.

She quit practicing just as a messenger from her father came to tell them to get ready and for her to return to the family tents. She said goodbye and with Nymeria at her side she raced back to her tent. Sansa and Jeyne were already saddling their horses and Arya started to do the same.

Sansa finished saddling her horse and came over to help Arya. "Arya...I'm sorry about yesterday," Sansa said, surprising Arya.

"Sorry about what?"

"About being silly when you were trying to teach us."

"Oh."

"It's just...I know we should learn. I know the world is dangerous. I learned that on the Kingsroad. And in King's Landing. But...I don't think I could kill anyone."

"You would if you had to."

"It seems so unreal. I still have nightmares about that man grabbing me in the woods. How...how do you sleep after the things you have seen and done?"

"I sleep very well," Arya said as she adjusted a strap on her saddle. "Just remember that they are trying to hurt you and your family and friends. Then you will have no trouble hurting them first."

Sansa seemed to think on this and finally nodded. "Yes...I could do that. If I had to. Please teach us again. I really want to learn. And if Jeyne is being silly, then just teach me. Alone."

Arya grinned, glad Sansa was starting to see it was necessary to learn how to defend herself. "Good. You can't learn properly if you don't want to. We'll start again when we get to Winterfell."

All around them the tents were coming down and the wagons being loaded and in another thirty minutes they started to move out. After a while Arya went and found the forge wagon and Nymeria crawled up inside with Tim and she rode beside Gendry as usual.

And this is what they did for the next five days, as the army slowly grew smaller as men and horses and wagons went off to different villages and small towns and to the bigger seats of the lords of the North. It rained on the second day and they all got wet and some sickness started in the army. The cold winds were blowing across the land and then it rained again and again and after the fourth night as the army huddled around fires and tried to get dry her father announced that fall was truly here.

As the fifth day dawned the sky was clear and all said a silent prayer to the gods. The Kingsroad was very muddy and progress was slow but spirits rose as the sun came out and warmed their faces and bodies. The cold winds kept blowing, however, and by late afternoon the skies darkened again, and just as they stopped and started to set up camp the rain came and soon it was a raging downpour. Everyone got wet as they struggled to set up tents in the rain.

Arya and Nymeria skipped across the camp in the rain and they entered the pavilion where her family stood around hot braziers. All were wet and miserable and Sansa had the sniffles and Robb's wife Roslin looked like a drown cat, her hair all wet. Arya's mother entered the pavilion and was carrying a large bundle in a canvas bag. She took out dry towels and handed them to everyone and soon they were all drying their hair. Two servants entered carrying two more bags and Arya's mother thanked them and after they left she started to take out drier clothes from the two bags.

"Out of your wet clothes, now, girls first," Catelyn Stark said and Robb and Ned stood by the entrance and made sure it was closed and looked away as the women stripped out of their wet clothes.

Arya had been naked many times in front of her mother and sister but now suddenly she felt very self conscious. They were both women, Jeyne and Roslin as well, and she was still a girl. They all had women's bodies and she was still as skinny and as flat as a boy. She knew Sansa hadn't had her moon's blood yet but she was tall and getting more womanly every day and she had heard mother say Sansa's moon's blood would come on her soon. Arya had one time hoped she would never get her moon's blood and would remain a girl all her life but now she had the strong feeling she wanted to be a woman and even felt some jealousy as she looked at the others.

As Arya pulled on dry small clothes and slipped on the blue dressed she had worn at Robb's wedding, a shout came from outside their tent and then Nymeria rose from where she had been sitting by Arya's side and she growled and Arya suddenly slipped inside Nymeria without even thinking about it.

She smelled blood, strong and sharp and then she sensed Grey Wind outside and Grey Wind was growling at something and Nymeria ran out of the tent and was outside in the rain. Arya felt the heavy rain drops hit Nymeria's fur and then through her eyes Arya saw a man on a horse and the horse was bloody and so was the man. Robb and her father were there and they were helping the man off the horse. Then with a shock Arya knew who he was. It was Mikken, the Winterfell smith.

"Get him to the maester's tent!" her father was shouting and then Arya felt someone slap her face and she came back to her own body.

She was lying on the wet ground, her back wet, and her mother and the other's were kneeling over her, her mother's face full of worry, Sansa's eyes wide with fear, shaking her head as if to tell Arya 'no'. Jeyne and Roslin were both looking very confused and worried.

"What's wrong with her?" Roslin asked.

"Are you ill?" Catelyn Stark said to Arya, worry filling her eyes.

"No," Arya said as she sat up and they helped her to the table. "I…I…just fell."

Her mother stared at her sharply. "You didn't just fall. Nymeria growled and ran from the pavilion and then your eyes rolled back in your head and you fell and were growling as well. What in all of the Seven Kingdoms is going on?"

Arya shot a quick look to her sister who shook her head once again and this time her mother saw it. "What's this?" she said in anger. "Sansa. Tell me what is happening. This instant."

Sansa gulped and looked down. "Nothing is happening. She's just clumsy. She just fell."

Then Arya remembered what she had seen outside. "It's Mikken!" she said as she stood and then she tried to run outside but her mother grabbed her.

"What did you say?" her mother asked, fear in her eyes.

"It was Mikken! He was on a bloody horse and he is hurt. Father took him to the maester!"

"How do you know that?" Jeyne asked.

"You never left the pavilion," Roslin added.

But Catelyn Stark ignored what they said. "Mikken! Here? And he's hurt?"

"Yes!" Arya shouted and she tried to run again but her mother stopped her.

"Stay here! All of you!" Then with fear in her eyes she left the pavilion and went out into the rain. By the sounds of the rain hitting the canvas roof over their heads the rain was letting up a bit.

"Gods!" Sansa yelled at Arya as soon as her mother left. "Can't you control it?"

"No!" Arya shouted back.

Jeyne and Roslin looked at each other in confusion. "What's happening?" Roslin asked in worry. "Who's Mikken?"

"The Winterfell smith," Sansa told her. Then she gasped and Arya knew she realized what her mother and Arya had already realized.

"Why is he here? What's happening at Winterfell?" Jeyne asked, understanding as well, voicing all their fears in words.

"I'll find out," Arya said as she sat at the table. Then she looked at Sansa. "Make sure I don't fall again."

Sansa looked like she was about to protest but then she just nodded and sat swiftly bedside her sister. Arya reached out with her mind and found Nymeria and then she slipped inside her skin.

The smell of blood came again and she was sitting beside Grey Wind next to some men tending a horse. The horse had blood on its left side and Arya could see two small wounds there. The rain was less now, and was just a steady drizzle. It was washing away the blood but a small bit still came out. Two soldiers were looking at the wound.

"Nasty, looks like arrows," said one.

"Not too bad," said the other. "She'll live. Looks exhausted. He rode her hard. Let's get her some oats."

As they walked away Nymeria and Grey Wind both growled at the horse and Arya sensed they both wanted to eat the horse. She quietly told Nymeria 'no, no, no, this horse saved Mikken, leave it alone' and the feeling of hunger remained but Nymeria's desire to eat the horse lessened somewhat.

Arya looked around and realized they were near the maester's tent. Suddenly it opened and Robb and her father came out with Lord Bolton and the Greatjon and the four men stood in the drizzle and spoke on what had happened.

"Seven hells!" Robb said and he looked mad and that really worried Arya.

"Send a force at once!" her father commanded the Greatjon.

"Lord Stark, we must wait until morning," Lord Bolton was saying and Arya could barely hear his quiet voice. "The men are tired, the horses as well. In the dark and the rain, with the mud and potholes on the Kingsroad, we will lose many to accidents."

"Aye," said her father in frustration. He turned to the Greatjon. "How is your leg?" Arya remembered the Greatjon had been badly wounded not more than a week past and still limped on his injured leg.

The Greatjon grunted. "Ned, I can ride from the Arbor to the Wall if I get to kill ironmen at the end."

"Good," Arya's father said. "You leave at dawn, two thousand cavalry. Surround them, but don't attack. Wait for us. Make sure none escape. I want all their heads, every last one of them!"

"I'll deliver them personally on pikes!" the Greatjon promised.

"I'm going as well!" Robb said and his father agreed, and then Robb looked at the Greatjon. "Leave Theon Greyjoy for me! He has betrayed our family and he will pay in blood!"

Arya was confused. Theon? What was happening?

"They can hold Winterfell for a long time with only a few men," Lord Bolton was saying.

"We will take back Winterfell and kill every last ironmen if it takes all winter," Ned Stark told him. "My lords, get some rest. We will have little chance to get more in the next few days."

With that Bolton and the Greatjon left them and then Arya heard her mother's voice as she came up at a run to the tent. "Ned? Robb? What is happening? Is it really Mikken?"

"Aye," said Robb.

Ned Stark looked at his wife and put a hand on her shoulder. "The ironmen under Theon Greyjoy have taken Winterfell."

For a second she stood looking at him and Arya could not see her face but knew she must be in shock as Arya was herself. Then her mother gasped. "Bran? Rickon?"

"They are still alive," Ned Star told his wife. "Mikken escaped at dawn three days ago but took an arrow wound. They took the castle ten days ago, he said, and many were slain and they cut off all communications. But he said Bran and Rickon are still well. As is Maester Luwin."

"Thank the gods," his wife said and then he hugged her tight.

"Theon is calling himself the Prince of Winterfell," Robb told her and Catelyn Stark shook her head in disgust.

"After treating him like one of our own for ten years, how could he?"

"He was our hostage," Arya's father reminded her mother. "And we killed his two brothers. No doubt his father put him up to this madness."

Just then Arya felt a slap and she shook her head and was back in the pavilion with Sansa, Jeyne, and Roslin all looking at her with wide eyes.

"Who hit me?" Arya demanded to know at once.

"I did!" Sansa said boldly. "You were gone a long time. What's happening?"

Arya took a deep breath and told them. "The ironmen have attacked Winterfell. They have taken it."

The shock of this news ran through the army in the morning and all were up and on the road again in no time, with Robb and Lord Umber leading the last of their cavalry forces swiftly up the road ahead of the remaining infantry and supply wagons. Arya stayed with her family for the most part, seeing Gendry briefly to tell him what she knew. Her father pushed the army to move fast, with them taking few rests for food, camping late in the day and getting on the road again before dawn. All were very tired and ragged and footsore, but many had family and friends in Winterfell and they all worried. The sooner they got there the better.

Mikken was recovering from his wound, an arrow that had hit him in the back of the left shoulder. He had been pursued by some ironmen but he knew the land and they did not and he had escaped. He told them all he knew, about how the ironmen had attacked Torrhen's Square, leading Ser Rodrik to lead a force there to raise the siege. Meanwhile another force of ironmen under Theon Greyjoy had marched on Winterfell and used grappling hooks and ropes to climb the walls and take the badly undermanned castle.

Two days later on a sunny clear day in the afternoon they rode over a rise in the Kingsroad and suddenly the remains of the army halted. Off in the distance they could see Winterfell, and there was home at last, the thing Arya had been dreaming about for days and weeks and months. But now the dream was shattered and a collective groan escaped from the remains of the army. They could see columns of dark black smoke rising above the great castle and the town outside it. Winterfell was burning.

As she rode beside her family in the middle of the column they all stared in shock at this visage and her father voiced what they were all thinking. "Bran. Rickon."

Sansa let out a cry and so did Jeyne and Arya looked at her mother and tears were pooling in her eyes and her lips were trembling. Her father never looked so grim and angry and Arya knew that Theon Greyjoy and those with him would pay with their blood and die in pain before this was all over.

Then a rider came racing back and halted beside her father. It was the Greatjon Umber.

"What news, Lord Umber?" her father shouted to him as he rode up.

"We arrived at dawn yesterday. They set the fires in the night," the Greatjon said, out of breath. "Then they tried to break away in the confusion. We killed many of them, but some escaped, including Greyjoy. When the dawn came at least we could not see his body among those we killed. Robb and some men went after those that escaped and they'll catch them soon I am certain. We entered the castle and most of my men and the people are there now still fighting the fires and are in sore need of help. But…but…"

And then his voice faltered and he couldn't speak and that was such an odd thing from the Greatjon that they all knew something bad had happened. Arya felt her heart constrict and tears formed in her eyes and then her mother asked in a quiet voice what they all feared. "Bran and Rickon are dead?"

The Greatjon spoke swiftly to allay their fears. "No, my lady! We just…we can't find them! Nor Maester Luwin, or a woman the others say is called Osha. Even Howland Reed's two whelps are gone. They are all gone from Winterfell!"


	35. Chapter 35 Luwin

**Ned Stark Lives! Chapter 35 Luwin**

The ironmen came in the hour just before dawn, climbing the high outer wall of Winterfell with ropes and grappling hooks, and then swimming the moat between the walls. They killed the few guards on the main gates and forced the main gate to the inner castle. Before the meager number of defenders could react properly the ironmen had slain or wounded over a dozen and the rest yielded and were gathered in the main courtyard.

Maester Luwin was up earlier than was normal for him, tending to his ravens in the high tower where the rookery was located, feeding them, waiting for the dawn as he had a message he wanted to send to White Harbor, to see if there was any news of the Stark host. Messages he had received from White Harbor recently, telling him of the events at King's Landing, including the death of King Joffrey Baratheon and the proclamation of Stannis Baratheon as the new king. He had also received a raven from King Stannis himself, proclaiming himself king and asking for the Starks to swear him loyalty. An answer to that message would have to wait for the Lord of Winterfell to return.

And that was the trouble. Master Luwin had no idea where the Stark host was at the moment. Lord Manderly had not sent word of where it was now. The last news he had of the northern host was from the Twins, with Lord Eddard writing to tell him Robb had married and they were leaving that very day for Moat Cailin. But that message had arrived well over a week ago. And many things had happened here since then.

Ser Rodrik had returned from the east, dragging Lord Bolton's bastard son Ramsey Snow in chains with him. They had found Lady Hornwood near death, locked in a room in a tower in the Dreadfort and starved, but still alive, barely. If they had come a few days later she might have been dead. When Ser Rodrik and his large group of warriors had approached the Dreadfort they found Ramsey and his boon companions outside the stronghold. Among them was a young foul smelling man known as Reek. They had been chasing some poor half naked girl with a pack of vicious dogs. Ser Rodrik's men saved the girl and demanded Ramsey and his men surrender but they had tried to flee. Ser Rodrik's men had run them to ground, killing Reek and a few others and capturing Ramsey. Ser Rodrik commanded the Dreadfort gates be opened in the name of Lord Stark and after much discussion the castellan opened the gates, the whole time saying Lord Bolton would flay him alive for doing so. Now Lady Hornwood was recovering, and the maester of the Dreadfort said she would live.

And that raised a new set of problems. Ramsey Snow had married Lady Hornwood, by force to be sure, but she had said the words and he had bedded her and it was a legitimate marriage. And he was a son of Roose Bolton, one of Lord Stark's sworn bannermen. Therefore it was uncertain what to do with the Bastard of the Dreadfort. Ser Rodrik wanted to kill him, not only for what he did to Lady Hornwood but for all his past crimes, of which there were many. But Ser Rodrik had kept a cool head and kept Ramsey alive and dragged him back to Winterfell to await Lord Stark's justice.

No sooner had Ser Rodrik returned than word came that Torrhen's Square was under attack by ironmen led by a savage warrior named Dagmar Cleftjaw. Ser Rodrik raised six hundred men from Winterfell and the nearby area and Maester Luwin had sent out ravens to other strongholds to ask for more men. Few were available as much of the strength of the north was still south of Moat Cailin. But Ser Rodrik had marched, more than a week ago now. Maester Luwin had had no word of them since then, and worried on what had become of them. All of this news he had sent by raven to White Harbor, in hopes Lord Manderly would get it and pass it on to Lord Stark when he managed to overcome the ironmen at Moat Cailin.

Now it was time to send one more raven to White Harbor, his last raven for that place, to find out where the northern host was. As he was preparing to write the new message by candlelight, Maester Luwin heard the clash of steel on steel coming from within the castle and then he heard a terrible scream.

He rushed to a nearby open window and saw down below in the main courtyard a Winterfell man being slain by some unknown enemy. Then he saw more men, fighting, and then the few Winterfell guards were yielding and falling to their knees. Although at first shocked by this sight in the gloom of the predawn light, Luwin knew what he must do and do it fast. Without hesitation he turned back to his birds and looked at what he had. There were ravens for most of the major strongholds of the North and other important places like King's Landing, Riverrun, the Eyrie in the Vale, Dragonstone, and even one for as far south as Old Town. But many of those places were no longer friends to Winterfell or were too far away or perhaps unwilling to offer aid. Maester Luwin knew he might have time to scribble just one hasty message, perhaps two, and so he choose carefully. White Harbor he was planning to send a raven to already and White Harbor it had to be. It was not too far away, and still a strong friend to Winterfell, especially now after Ser Rodrik had sorted out the problem with the Hornwood lands and Roose Bolton's bastard was a prisoner in the Winterfell cells.

The small thin parchment he had been writing his previous message on was turned over and he hastily scribbled "_Winterfell under attack by unknown enemy. Send aid! Luwin._" He rolled it up tight and sealed it with melted wax from his candle and then swiftly attached it to the White Harbor raven. He picked it up and tossed it out the window and off it went into the air. Then, with a feeling of helpless horror, Luwin saw an arrow fly into the sky and clip the raven's left wing. It screamed, and then shuddered and fell in spirals to the courtyard below where one of the attackers stabbed it through with a spear to make sure it was truly dead. Then the rookery door swung open with a loud bang and Luwin knew who the attackers were.

"There will be no more messages sent from Winterfell except ones I send, Maester Luwin," Theon Greyjoy told him. Two large men were with him, both bearded and fierce looking, carrying axes and spears. All three were dressed in leather armor studded with iron discs with the kraken sigil of the Greyjoys embossed in the leather on their chests.

"Theon?" Maester Luwin said in confusion. "What is the meaning of this?"

"I have captured Winterfell in the name of my father King Balon Greyjoy of the Iron Islands," Theon told him, his eyes seemingly ablaze with the glory of what he had just done. "You will serve me now, Maester Luwin. The Starks are no longer lords of Winterfell. I am."

"Theon, how can you do this? Lord Stark raised you like his own son. He…"

"Eddard Stark is no longer Lord Stark," Theon retorted as he interrupted him, the fire still in his eyes. "He is a traitor. And I am no son of Eddard Stark. The Starks killed my brothers. They tore down the walls of Pyke and forced my father to bend the knee to Robert Baratheon and send me here as a hostage. Now we have come to take our revenge. The North belongs to us."

"The Stark army will soon be at Moat Cailin and then it will come here," Luwin told him.

"We hold the Moat, old man," said one of the ironmen with Theon.

"And the northern host marches on it as we speak," Luwin told them, uncertain of this but sure it must happen soon if not already. "There are over ten thousand men. How many have you at the Moat?"

"Bigger armies than that have broken themselves on the Moat," Theon said. "You told me that yourself in my lessons here within these walls."

"Yes, I did. Theon, you must…"

"Must?" Theon shouted and glared at him. "Enough of your opinions, Maester Luwin. You will serve me or you will die."

Maester Luwin sighed. "I will serve you. I am a maester of the Citadel, bound by oath to serve the lord of Winterfell. If it is you, then I will serve."

"Good," Theon replied, some of the anger leaving him. "Your first duty is to gather the people of Winterfell in the great hall."

"Where are Bran and Rickon?" Luwin asked with fear in his heart.

"Asleep still I suppose," Theon said with a grin. "But not for long."

"If you harm them…"

"Do you take me for a fool, old man?" Theon said in renewed rising anger. "No harm will come to anyone else as long as all do as I say. Any resistance will be put down with steel. I'll wake up the Stark boys. They will know who their new lord is. Then you will tell Bran he is to proclaim me lord of Winterfell in front of the people."

"Theon, I beg of you, please…Lord…I mean…Eddard Stark…he will never forgive this. He will hunt you to the end of your days. You must know this."

Theon grunted. "If he can get here. And if he does I can hold Winterfell with a few hundred men until my father sends reinforcements. The Starks won't sit outside these walls when winter comes or they will freeze and starve. Then they will bend the knee. Or die. Now, old man, are you going to do as I bid or should I add your body to those we have already slain?"

"I will serve," Maester Luwin told his new lord. Then he looked at the door the men blocked and waited and they stepped aside and he went into the castle corridor. In thirty minutes he had sent word through the castle and the outside town and soon the great hall was crowded, mostly with women, children, old men, and the few guards who had yielded. There was Old Nan, and Ser Rodrik's daughter Beth Cassel, Farlen the hound master, and Mikken the smith, and many others. Many were sleepy-eyed and some were angry, none more so than Mikken, who looked like he wanted to use his strong hands to strangle every ironman. That was trouble waiting to happen. Luwin walked over to him.

"Control your anger, my friend, or it will be the end of you."

Mikken glared at him. "How can you just stand there, maester, and not want to kill them all? Especially Theon Turncoat!"

"I am angry as well, but I know that this will not last long," Luwin told him calmly. "I have had a raven. Lord Stark and ten thousand men are north of Moat Cailin and will be here in less than a week." It was a lie, or maybe it was the truth by now, but Luwin had to tell him something to give him hope and to calm him, even a little bit.

Mikken looked at him in surprise. "Aye? For certain?"

"Yes. Now stay quiet and stay alive. Winterfell still has need of you when these ironmen are defeated."

Mikken nodded. "I will do as you say. But I do not like it."

"Nor I, but we must be patient until Lord Stark returns."

Many people were afraid and were whispering and wondering what was happening. Around them stood the heavily armed ironmen, and Luwin counted at least twenty of them. How many did they have? he wondered. Were there more outside? Or was this it? How had so few men taken the greatest castle in the North?

Among the crowd were the two Frey boys and the Reed children, roused from their beds and sleepy-eyed like most of the others. "The sea has come to Winterfell," Jojen said quietly to Maester Luwin after he walked over to them and stood by his side.

"Alebelly is dead," Meera said next and Luwin stared at her with a questioning look. "I saw them drag his body into the courtyard." All Luwin could think was that what the boy Jojen said would come to pass was coming true.

Gage the cook and Osha and the other kitchen workers came into the hall from the entrance leading to the kitchens. They must have been up early preparing breakfast, Luwin guessed. Osha saw Luwin and sidled up to him. "Now what, old man?"

"Now we have a new master of Winterfell," he told her. "Theon Greyjoy. You do remember him, yes?"

"Aye," she said, her eyes narrowing. "He's the one who helped captured me in the woods."

"Yes. Be careful what you say or do around these men. They kill over the slightest perceived insult or even if they dislike how you look at them."

She grunted. "I'm afraid of no man."

"Osha…these men are ruthless killers. Lord Stark's army is but a few days ride from here and will soon save us."

"You said Lord Stark will most likely kill me."

"Perhaps. If you wish to escape, I can show you a way."

"Maybe I'd like to stay to see how this new lord treats me. Maybe he will make me one of his warriors."

"There are few women warriors in the ironmen fleets. If you join them, then Lord Stark will surely cut your head off if you are still here when he arrives."

She was about to reply when one of the ironmen came up to Luwin. "Come, old man, the prince wants you in the cripple's bedchambers."

Luwin found Theon in Bran's room, Bran still in his bed, his eyes full of anger. "Maester Luwin," Theon began. "Tell him to do what I command or more people will die. I will be in the great hall."

Theon left with his two burly men and Luwin sat on Bran's bed. "Is it true?" Bran asked. "Has Theon taken Winterfell?"

"Yes."

"Why does he hate us?"

"He is doing his father's bidding," Luwin told Bran. "There is much history between the Starks and Greyjoys, not all of it good. Theon was a hostage here for almost ten years."

"Father treated him like a son."

"True, but still he was a hostage," Luwin said. "Now let's put all this aside for later. You must do what he says."

"No," Bran said defiantly. "I will not yield Winterfell."

Luwin sighed. "Bran…theses are ironmen. They will kill us all and burn Winterfell and the town and it will not bother them in the least bit."

"Where is Father's army?"

Luwin grinned. "Close. No more than a week's march away. Then these ironmen will be defeated or they will run away. No one will judge you harshly if you yield the castle for just one week. You are the Lord of Winterfell while Robb and your father are gone. You must protect your people."

Bran seemed to think on this and then reached up for the iron bar hanging above his bed and pulled himself up. "I need to get dressed," he said and Luwin nodded and soon they had him in his best clothes. Luwin looked for Hodor but the big stable boy was not about. A large ironman was waiting in the corridor. "Prince Theon told me to take the cripple," he said.

"I'm not a cripple," Bran said in defiance.

The ironman grunted, but said nothing and came into the room and picked up Bran easily in his strong arms. Out in the hall Rickon was standing with a sleepy look on his face. He started asking many questions and Bran and Luwin told him what they could as they walked down to the great hall.

Inside things had changed. Theon was now sitting on the high seat of Lord Stark at the head table, with his men in front of him, brandishing their weapons, confronting the people. Next to Theon was a young lad carrying a flagon of wine, pouring some for the new lord of Winterfell. That must be his squire, Luwin thought. Hodor was there now also, sitting in the far back, with a bloody nose, and he was sobbing. Old Nan was comforting him with quiet whispers. Luwin felt a flash of anger, at these men who came here and killed these peaceful people and beat a simple minded stable boy and threatened to kill the rest. But he forced himself to remain calm. He had to maintain order if there were to be no more deaths.

In a few moments it was all over. Bran yielded Winterfell to Prince Theon and his men. He told the people to remain calm and no one else would be hurt. No one said a word in protest and Luwin supposed his words to Mikken had spread quickly. But there was anger in many eyes and more than a few were sobbing. Prince Theon then ordered a breakfast feast for his men and told the rest of the people to go back to their homes or work and soon the people were moving off to do their duties for their new lord.

Maester Luwin spent the rest of the morning treating wounded from the battle. Hayhead, one of the Winterfell guards, had been badly wounded and Luwin knew he would not survive. Luwin gave him milk of the poppy for his pain and let him be. A few others had minor wounds that he applied boiled wine and poultices to so as to prevent corruption. Then he stitched them up with catgut. Two women in the town had been raped by ironmen and Luwin did what he could for their injuries and to ease their anguish, giving both dreamwine so they could at least sleep for a while.

After he finished treating the women he went to look at the dead men in the courtyard. He counted nine dead, including Alebelly. There were two Silent Sisters who lived in the town and always took care of the dead of Winterfell and they were there now, preparing the bodies as some family members stood nearby weeping. Mikken came up to him, his eyes full of anger again.

"They drown the septon," he told Luwin and pointed to the well at the side of the courtyard. Luwin looked down and there was the septon of Winterfell, in his robes, dead in the water.

"An offering to their Drowned God, they said," Mikken spat.

"May he be the last," Luwin said with a weary sigh. "Get some men and fish him out and give him to the sisters."

"Maester…we have more men than they do… I counted not even but thirty of them. We have…"

"More men...but no strong warriors," Luwin told him. "I do not doubt your bravery, my friend, but we have no weapons except hammers and kitchen knives and they have armor, axes, spears, dirks, and bows. Many will die and we may still not prevail. Be patient. Soon, ten thousand men will be outside these walls."

"When Robb and Lord Stark get hold of him, Theon Greyjoy will wish he had never been born," Mikken said with a growl.

Just then an ironman approached and Luwin was summoned to the great hall. Theon and many of his men were still feasting and drinking, the squire pouring ale and wine for them. The new Lord of Winterfell called Luwin to the head table.

"Wex," Theon said to the boy. "A plate for the maester and a cup of wine. Maester, please sit."

Luwin hesitated, did not want to sit with him but knew he must to make the transition of power go more easily. He sat next to Theon and the boy brought him a plate and cup and Luwin took some bread and bacon and some wine. He was hungry and ate and drank some, listening to the talk of the ironmen for a bit, mostly about their bragging about who swam the moat and climbed the walls and so on. He noticed the boy Wex never spoke, not even to say "yes, my lord" when Theon gave him a command. Theon noticed Luwin looking at Wex.

"He's a mute," Theon said. "A bastard son of one of the Botleys. They told me he can't talk, or read or write either, but he listens well and understands and is a good lad."

Maester Luwin nodded. "Such an affliction may be caused by a deformation of the vocal box when born or perhaps some trauma in his youth."

Theon shrugged. "It matters not, he will never talk." Then he changed the subject. "Maester Luwin, do you have ravens for Pyke and Deepwood Motte?"

"Yes, my lord," Luwin answered. "You wish to send messages?"

"Aye," Theon told him, using the northern way to say 'yes' from habit and his years of forced service in the north. "I will write and seal them myself. After we eat."

After a moment Luwin decided to brooch a delicate subject. "My lord…there has been some rape."

Theon's eyes narrowed. "Is that so? How many?"

"Two town's women."

"Did they say who it was?"

"They are not certain. Or they are afraid to point fingers."

Theon grunted. "I will put a stop to that."

"Thank you, my lord."

"See, Maester? We can get along. Just make sure the people stay in line. I have locked the armory and will put a guard on it. All swords and other weapons have been taken from the smithy as well. Now, where is the new steward, the man who took over from Poole?"

"I will summon him, but I know the counts of all."

"How much food is there?"

"Enough for a five year winter, if it's rationed wisely."

That pleased Theon. "Good. And what of the gold and silver?"

"My lord?"

"The treasure vault. I will see it. After the messages."

The messages were sent and then Luwin and the steward opened the treasure vault of Winterfell, deep under the main castle in a corridor they lit with torches. The new steward took a set of heavy keys and opened the three locks on the doors and then swung them opened. Luwin had rarely been here. As a servant of the Citadel he had no wealth of his own. He served a house until his death and all was provided for him by the house. Maesters did not grow rich, or at least they were not supposed to. But not all served major houses, and some took payment for their skills to pay for their own food and clothing.

The treasure vault was stacked with chests and many fine items the Stark family had gathered over thousands of years of rule in the north. Gold and silver and copper there was a plenty. Many of the coins had been minted in days gone by, with various Targaryen kings names stamped on them, and even older coins from when the Starks were Kings in the North. There were also plenty of jewels and gems, swords, and armor, cups and plates, and other fine items, things given to the Starks or taken in battle or collected by various household members over the centuries.

Luwin looked at Theon and saw his eyes gleaming with greed in the light of the torches and the glitter that came from the wealth of the room. "I have always wanted to see this room," he said in awe.

"Theon…"

"Prince Theon," Theon snapped at him.

"Yes, my lord. Prince Theon. What is your intention?"

Theon stepped towards an open chest and rubbed his fingers lightly along a pile of gold coins stamped with the name of the Mad King Aerys. He picked one up.

"Do you know House Greyjoy's words, Maester?"

"We do not sow."

"Aye. We do not sow. We do not farm or work in the mines or hew in the forests. We take what we want, we pay the iron price. When I returned to Pyke to ask for my father's ships to help Robb against the Lannisters do you know what he said to me? He called me soft, said the Starks had turned me soft. He said I came home wearing skirts and gold chains I had paid coin for. He scorned me and mocked me. We are iron born and we pay the iron price, he said. Well, I have paid the iron price. I have taken Winterfell. And this is all mine now."

"Yes, my lord. It is all yours to do with as you wish," Luwin told him. He looked at the steward, a younger man named Samson, younger by many years than his predecessor, but good at his work with sums and ledgers. He stood there behind Theon, holding his keys and a torch held high, and shook his head in disgust.

"For now it stays here," Theon said. "When my sister comes, some of her men will take much of it away."

"Your sister, my lord?"

"Asha is at Deepwood Motte with almost one thousand men," Theon told him. "She will soon send half her force here. With over five hundred men I will hold Winterfell all winter."

"My lord…the Stark host will be here before your sister and her men. Deepwood Motte is more than a week's ride away through the Wolfswoods."

Theon grunted. "Thank you for your wise counsel, old man. The Starks are not getting past Moat Cailin so easy." Theon dropped the coin and then turned and walked away. "Lock it," he said as he left.

After that things ran mostly as they had before. Life was carried on as normally as possible. The people did their work and the ironmen guarded the gates and walls, but they were so very few, as the people soon discovered. Less than thirty of them had taken Winterfell. More grumbling about attacking the ironmen came from Mikken and others but Luwin put a stop to it, he hoped. Bran and Rickon and the other children were given free reign of the castle but no one was allowed out the inner wall gates. Theon warned the town's folk that if anyone went missing he would kill the rest of their family. Luwin and the Stark boys were forced to dine with Theon in the evenings and listen to him go on about the glory he and his men would reap back in the Iron Islands and how they would sing songs of them in the future.

On the second day in the morning Theon visited the Bastard of the Dreadfort in his cell. "What was his crime?" Theon asked Luwin.

"Many," Luwin said. "Most recently he forcible married Lady Hornwood and took her lands as his. Then he near starved her to death."

Ramsey Snow glared at Luwin with his pale grey eyes that were so like his father's. "She was an old woman who would have died soon anyways, and with no strong heir. I did her house a favor." Then he looked at Theon. "Prince Theon, free me and I will be your man. I know these lands, I know the people. I can go back to the Dreadfort and bring six hundred men to your side in a week."

Luwin could see Theon thinking on this and knew he had to forestall it. "Ramsey, your father and the Starks will soon be here. What do you think Lord Bolton will do to you if you raise his men to fight against his liege lord?"

Ramsey snorted and licked his thick lips. "They are my men now, not his. They are loyal to me."

Theon laughed. "You think much of yourself…Lord Snow."

Ramsey bristled. "I'm a Bolton," he said in a soft and dangerous voice.

"Never trust this one, my lord," Luwin told Theon. "He will help you and then stab you in the back. And six hundred men are not enough. Lord Stark and Lord Bolton and Lord Umber and the rest have twenty times that number. And they will be here before he returns. He just wants to escape to be free from Lord Stark and his father's justice."

Theon laughed again but this time he did the unexpected and Luwin cursed himself for speaking so much. "Is that so? If I let you go Lord Snow, that will vex Eddard Stark? I like the idea of that." Theon turned to one of his men, who was standing nearby. "Let him out. Give him food and a sword and let him through the Hunter's Gate."

"I am forever grateful, my Prince," Ramsey said, but Luwin knew it was not sincere.

"Prince Theon, my lord, this is a mistake," Luwin pleaded. "He is a dangerous man who will cause more trouble if released."

"Trouble for the Starks, outside these walls, not for me," Theon said. He turned to his man with the keys. "Open it."

Ramsay grinned with delight as the key was turned and his cell door opened. He glared at Luwin. "Some day, old maester, I'll be back. To flay your hide."

"Lord Stark will hunt you like the dog you are," Luwin said in return, not flinching from those pale eyes.

Ramsey grunted and then was led away and was gone from the castle thirty minutes later. Luwin had a bad feeling that they had not heard the last of the Bastard of the Dreadfort.

Nothing more dramatic happened in the next few days. The ironmen settled in and began to patrol the castle's inner walls, sleeping in an empty barracks when off duty. Theon took to Lord Stark's bedchambers and had a different girl from the town in his bed each night, all of them young and willingly coming to his bed it seemed to Luwin. They were too young to realize that Prince Theon would soon be fled or dead. Theon even asked him about Meera, about how old she was, and if she was a maid. Luwin advised him to leave her be, as she was a hostage to Howland Reed's future goodwill and it would not do to spoil her. Theon reluctantly agreed.

One day some merchants approached the town with wares for sale and they and their cargoes were seized and held prisoner inside the castle. No word got out that Winterfell had fallen as far as Luwin knew.

As the days passed no news came from Pyke or Deepwood Motte or Torrehen's Square and Theon grew more restless and paranoid. He was at the rookery each morning at dawn with Luwin waiting for ravens and none came. Then, on the sixth day after Winterfell had fallen, a raven came flying in just after they were about to leave the rookery to break their fast. It was from White Harbor and the message was very short.

"_Moat Cailin fell many days past. Stark host on the Kingsroad, soon to be at Winterfell, a week at the latest. Lord Manderly_."

Theon snatched the message from his hand and read and his eyes grew wide and then Luwin knew he was afraid. "It is over, my lord," Luwin told him. "The northern host will soon be here to throw you out of Winterfell."

Theon recovered from his brief fright and snorted. "And what wise counsel do you advise, maester?" He said it in a sarcastic manner, and he knew Luwin was no friend of his.

"Leave while you can. You may just make your ships and your islands if you hurry."

Theon paced in the rookery and stared out the windows to the great castle. "The first time I saw Winterfell," he began to say. "I was very impressed. I…" but then he stopped speaking. There was a shout from the walls and then the inner wall gate on the main courtyard was opening.

"Someone is coming," Theon said and then he rushed out of the rookery and Luwin followed him. It was a single rider, a bearded man in leather armor with the kraken sigil on his chest. He climbed off his horse and stood before Theon, talking as Luwin puffed up behind Theon.

"…and these cursed northmen broke our ranks and most fled," he was saying.

"And Dagmar?" Theon asked.

"He lives, leading our few remaining men back to the ships. He sent me to warn you and I had to ride hard to get around those northmen. There is also word from Deepwood Motte. Your sister has taken it. But it is more than a week's ride from here. No help will come from there. She sent a message for you."

The man handed over a small raven scroll message to Theon and he quickly broke the wax seal and read. As he read he grew angry. He torn the message in two and then four and threw the pieces into the mud of the courtyard. "Come," Theon said to the rider. "Eat and drink and rest. We have much to talk on."

Theon led him away into the great hall and did not even glance at Luwin. The maester looked around and then seeing no ironmen about he bent to the ground and picked up the scattered remains of the letter. He hurried to his chambers and put the letter together and read.

"_Brother. What folly led you to take Winterfell? We are sea folk, and Winterfell is too far from the sea. The northmen are returning home. You cannot hold Winterfell and I can send no men. Don't die there in the green lands, so far from the salt and rocks. Come to Deepwood Motte. Take what was taken from us ten years ago and burn the rest. Asha_."

"Take what was taken from us ten years ago," Luwin said aloud and then he knew what it meant and he was afraid. As he thought on this a knock came to his door.

"Come," he said. It was the children, coming for their daily lessons, which did not stop even with the ironmen in the castle. Meera and Jojen, the Walder cousins, Rickon, and Bran, carried by Hodor, filed into his chambers.

"Time for school," said Big Walder with undisguised dislike.

"No…not today," Luwin said quickly. "You Frey boys are excused. Go play, do as you wish, but there will be no lessons for you today."

The two Walders cheered and did not even question him and soon took off.

"I want to play, too!" said Rickon, looking ready to bolt at any second.

"No!" Luwin said quickly. "I…I need you to stay here. I need to think for a moment."

"What's wrong?" Bran asked.

"The wolf is coming," said Jojen and Luwin could only nod.

He looked at Bran and Rickon and smiled. "Your father and mother and Robb and Sansa and Arya are coming home."

Rickon cheered and Bran grinned but then his grin fell. "There will be a battle."

"No…I think not," Luwin said. "I am trying to convince Theon to leave before they get here. But…"

"He will not go alone," Jojen said.

"I am afraid he won't," Luwin said. "He will take Bran and Rickon as hostages, for his safe passage to the Iron Islands."

"Then they must escape, now!" Meera said.

"Yes," Luwin said. "And you as well. Hodor…go to the kitchens, find Osha, bring her here."

"Hodor," said the big stable boy and he left right away.

"How can we escape?" Bran asked.

"There are secret ways," Luwin told them. "One in the crypts below and one in the godswood. Passages built many centuries ago for the lord of Winterfell to escape if overwhelmed by enemies. They lead to tunnels that come up far from the castle. The one in the godswood emerges in the Wolfswood. You will take that one."

"You are coming with us?" Bran asked.

"I think not. My duty is to Winterfell and its people. Osha will lead you. She is wise in the ways of the wild."

"So are we," Meera said and Luwin nodded.

"Yes. That is good." As they talked on what to do and what to take Hodor returned with Osha in tow.

"What is happening, old man?" she asked right away. "The ironmen are all in the great hall and having loud arguments."

"About what?"

"Whether to stay or go," she said. "The Starks are near?"

"Yes. And these children are leaving before the ironmen can whisk them away as hostages. I want you to guide them."

"Where?" she asked.

"To the Stark army on the Kingsroad." Osha blanched when he said this.

"Lord Robb knows me for an enemy."

"You do this service for the Starks and you will be their friend for life."

She hesitated and then spoke. "Tell me what to do."

He quickly explained about the passages and where they were. For a long hour they discussed it all and made their plans. They would leave tonight, if they had the chance.

But night came and there was no chance. Theon was growing more paranoid. Apparently he still wanted to stay, said he could hold Winterfell if he had strong men to help him. Glory and riches for all he told them, but his men grumbled and said they should leave, now. Theon placed guards on Rickon's and Bran's doors and there was no chance to escape that night.

The next morning Luwin was rudely awaken by one of the ironmen and dragged before Theon, sitting in Lord Stark's bed chamber in his night clothes, a naked wide eyed girl Luwin did not know under the fur blankets on the bed, the boy called Wex standing nearby.

"This is the thanks I get for treating you people nicely!" Theon ranted.

"What has happened?" Luwin asked.

"Mikken is gone!" Theon shouted. "He stole a horse from the stables and beat a guard near to death at the Hunter's Gate and escaped!"

"I…I warned him to remain here," Luwin said quickly. "He has always been headstrong, you know this to be true, my lord."

"Who helped him?" Theon demanded. "Someone must have helped him at the stables. Hodor? It was Hodor, wasn't it?"

"Hodor is a simple boy, my lord. You know he would do as Mikken asked. He cannot be blamed for this if he helped Mikken."

Theon ranted and raved for a short while more and then told Luwin to go check for ravens. There were none and when he reported this to Theon he had calmed somewhat.

"I sent three men after Mikken. They will soon bring his head back."

"Yes, my lord. I will tell the apprentice smith he is now in charge."

"Good. I want a crown made."

"A crown, my lord?"

"A crowd befitting a prince. See to it."

"Yes, my lord," Luwin said without hint of emotion, although he thought this was another folly. He told the apprentice smith, who scratched his head and said he did not have the skill for such work but would try.

Later that day the three ironmen returned, without Mikken's head, and again Theon was furious, but fortunately he did not take out his anger on any of the people. That night again there was no chance to escape. Now Luwin knew it would have to be in the daytime or not at all.

During the lunch hour, as many were busy cooking, serving, and feasting, Maester Luwin took three backpacks filled with food and clothes to the godswood. No one paid him much mind, and no one was guarding the gate to the godswood. It was shut tight, with Shaggydog and Summer inside, kept apart for the safety of all in the castle. Bran had no more bad dreams about Jaime Lannister, but he still dreamed of being inside Summer and told Luwin the direwolves were surviving on the squirrels that ventured inside the godswood. Luwin was cautious and took a large smoked ham from the storage lockers and as soon as he entered the godswood the two direwolves were growling before him. He flung the ham at them and they fell on it and consumed it with ravenous delight.

Luwin found the place on the outer walls were the secret passage was located and stored the three backpacks in the nearby brush. He then waited, resting after the burden of carrying the heavy backpacks alone. First, came the Reed children, and they both slipped on their backpacks and waited with him. Luwin also handed Meera a knife he manage to take from the kitchens. Then came Osha, and she had also taken two knives from the kitchens. She also put on a backpack. Finally, Rickon and Bran, carried by Hodor, came into the godswood. Summer and Shaggydog howled and cried as they saw their two owners for the first time in many days. Rickon ran and played with Shaggydog and it took all of Luwin's control not to shout at him to be quieter.

Luwin opened the secret door in the wall by pressing on a nearby stone. The open archway led to a set of narrow stairs leading down.

"What will we find?" Osha asked him as he handed her a lit lantern.

"The stairs go down about thirty feet," Luwin told her. "Then a stone lined passage. At the end it will just be a dirt tunnel. It comes up near a stream in the Wolfswood. Then you must circle to the north, and then go east until you find the Kingsroad. Come south and you will soon find the Stark army.

"What do I tell Lord Stark?"

"All you know."

"He still might kill me. Why should I do this?"

Luwin sighed. "If you want peace with the Starks, this is the only way to redeem yourself."

She hesitated and then Bran looked at her. "Please, Osha. I will tell my father all you have done for us."

"I once tried to harm you, little lord."

"But you didn't."

"We have no time for this," Meera said in fear. "We must go!"

"Yes," her brother added. "Quickly!"

"Where are the Walders?" Rickon asked.

"They are in no danger," Luwin told them. "I will protect them. Now go." Theon paid the Frey boys no mind and did not even think of the Twins as a potential enemy or friend. Also, Luwin did not trust the Frey boys not to make some stupid mistake and give the game away. "I will see you in few days."

With swift goodbyes they entered the arched doorway and went down the stairs, with Osha and her lamp in the lead, followed by Rickon and the two direwolves, and then Meera and Jojen. Hodor could not enter with Bran on his back so he had to carry him in his arms. Bran took one last look at Luwin.

"What will you tell Theon?"

"Let me worry about that. Now go, my lord."

Bran smiled. "Be safe." And Luwin's breath caught in his throat and he could only nod. A child he had brought into the world telling him to be safe while he went into danger. Luwin felt such strong emotions at that moment he just smiled once more and could not speak. Then they were gone and he sealed the door up. As he turned to leave the godswood, three ironmen led by Theon and followed by his squire Wex entered by the gate.

"What are you doing here?" Theon demanded at once.

"Sometimes I come here because it is peaceful, my lord," Luwin said, remaining calm.

"It's too peaceful, now" Theon retorted. "Not ten minutes ago those direwolves raised such a racket. Now they are quiet. Where are they?" Theon looked around warily.

"Somewhere in here, my lord. I fed them some ham. They had not been fed properly in a week. That is why they howled."

Theon nodded. "Very well. Come. And don't come back. We have no spare food for them. Let them starve and we will be rid of them for good."

"Yes, my lord."

Three hours later Theon knew that Bran and Rickon and the others were gone. Luwin was sitting in the great hall with him, once more trying and failing to advise Theon to leave, when one of the Frey boys, Big Walder, entered and said he could not find Rickon.

"He must be in his room," Luwin said to him, silently wishing he had sent him and his cousin with the others now.

"No, I checked there."

Theon looked at him in anger. "Go away, boy. We are busy."

Big Walder spoke back. "I'm just saying he's disappeared, my lord. Bran, too. And the frogmen. I can't find any of them."

Theon now stared at him. "Since when?"

"Lunchtime I saw them last, in here."

"They must be studying or playing in some other part of the castle," Luwin said in a calm tone.

Now Theon glared at him, stood and went at brisk pace out of the great hall. He yelled for his men and soon had them searching the castle high and low. An hour passed and they could not find them. Theon had his men drag Luwin to the godswood.

"They did not leave by any gate. I know you helped them leave from here somehow. Tell me how they did it," Theon demanded. He pulled out his dagger. "Or I will gut you right here."

Luwin stared at him. "You were going to take them to the Iron Islands."

"I was," Theon admitted.

"I could not allow that. I've sent them away."

The ironmen bristled and shouted for Theon to kill Luwin. "How did they escape?" Theon asked.

"If you must kill me, then kill me," Luwin said in a stern tone. "I will never betray House Stark to you."

"Let me do it," said the one they called Black Lorren and others also clamored for the chance until Theon silenced them.

"No. Bring someone else. Bring Old Nan. Bring Beth Cassel. Bring Farlen, and Gage and the other cooks and the kitchen workers and the steward. Bring them all. And we will kill them one by one until he tells us how they escaped."

His men moved to carry out his orders but Luwin let out a resigned sigh, hoping that four hours head start was enough for Osha and the others.

"I will tell you," he said to Theon. The new lord of Winterfell stopped his men and Luwin took to them the wall and opened the secret passage. He explained where it went. Theon cursed him and then looked to his men.

"Right. You three come with me. Wex, you as well. Black Lorren, you have the command here until I return."

"We need horses and hounds," said one of the men Theon picked to go with him.

"Horses cannot go in there but hounds can," Theon said and a man was sent to summon Farlen and his hounds. Thirty minutes later they were set to enter the tunnel. Theon was the last to enter and he took one last look at Black Lorren.

"If I am not back in two days, burn it. Burn it all and make for the sea."

Black Lorren laughed. "It will be a pleasure."

Then Theon entered the doorway and went down the stairs and Luwin closed the door. As he turned back a heavy hand smashed him across the mouth and blinding pain engulfed him as he collapsed to the ground.

"That's for betraying us," Black Lorren said. "And this is because I just don't like you." Then Luwin felt a sharp stab of pain in his stomach and felt more white hot pain roil up from below. "I've pricked your bowels, old man. Being a maester you know what that means. A slow death, in great pain."

Luwin gasped in agony and felt the world spinning. As he lay there, the ironmen ignored him and discussed what to do.

"We should burn it now and leave and bugger Prince Theon," said one.

"His father would gut us all if we leave him behind," said Black Lorren.

"King Balon has no love for him," spat another.

"You want to take that chance?" Black Lorren's voice said. "No? I thought not. We wait two days. The first sign of any enemies we go, through this tunnel, Theon or no Theon. But not before we burn it. And not before we get some treasure."

Then Luwin passed out and heard no more.

A long time later he awoke. His jaw ached and his mouth had blood in it. The pain in his guts was less, but it was still there, a dull throbbing. He held his hands over the wound and felt the blood congealing. It was not loss of blood he worried about, but corruption, as the bowels carried foulness that could destroy a man's inside. But it took time, days sometimes. He had medicine in his chambers. Milk of the poppy would dull the pain. Other medicines might save him, if he got them in time. But how much time had already passed? It was night. The first day. Or had one day passed? He was not sure. And his head was pounding. He reached up and felt his forehead and felt feverish. That was not good. He needed water, at least to cool himself. He could not drink it, as it would cause further damage down below.

He knew he had to get to the pool by the massive weirwood tree with its almost human like face carved into its trunk. But he also thought on what the ironmen had said, about escape, through the secret door. He hoped none of them noticed how he opened it, pressing on a certain stone. He hoped they would all get killed by the Starks when they came at last.

He dragged himself along the ground and the first move was such agony he laid there for almost an hour before making the second. He wanted to scream for help but if anyone helped him the ironmen would kill them for certain. He grunted and cried and let out gasps as he slowly dragged himself to the pool. He finally reached it as dawn's rosy fingers came over the walls and hit the trees of the godswood.

Luwin buried his head in the cool refreshing waters and took but a small sip to moisten his mouth and then he spit it out with the blood that had been in his mouth. He felt two teeth were very loose, but they did not come out. He ripped some cloth from his robes and soaked them in water and washed his wound as best he could. Then he slowly dragged himself to the weirwood and propped himself up and took some comfort in its shade.

For the rest of the day he drifted in and out of consciousness, hoping for an end to his agony, but none came. If he had a knife he would slit his wrists or his throat but he had no blade. No nearby rock was large enough to beat his head in and he knew he would be unconscious before he could kill himself anyway. No, he would have to suffer before the gods came to take him to his final rest. And he also knew he had to stay alive until Lord Eddard or someone else came and he told them what had happened to Bran and Rickon.

It rained a bit later that day. Luwin was mostly protected from the rain by the leaves of the weirwood. The rain that got through brought him some relief from his dehydration. As the day continued it rained more and for a while a real downpour came, but it let up by nightfall.

As he drifted in a sea of pain and fear, Luwin's mind went back over his life and all that had happened to him, the good and the bad, and he knew most of the good had been here in this castle. The best had been birthing and helping raise the Stark children and he unwittingly smiled as he thought on all of them and he thanked the gods that they were all safe. He even thought on Jon Snow and hoped he was well. He knew the boy had had a hard life, under the baleful glare of Lady Stark, but his father had raised him right and he grew into a good man. A man who had no place in the world but the Night's Watch and the Wall, and that was a pity.

He also thought on Theon Greyjoy and why he had come to what he was now. Pride, Luwin knew, his pride had been hurt when he returned to Pyke and his father had scorned him. He was trying to make up for lost years, trying to win his father's favor, as many sons over many eons had tried. If he found Bran and Rickon he would take them to his father, as hostages, as he was once taken. Then the Starks would have to stay their hand, negotiate, and perhaps there would never be peace. Save them Osha, he begged aloud in a moment of delirium. "Save them!" he tried to shout but he could not and passed out again.

When he awoke it was dark and he smelled smoke. He also heard voices.

"Fuck! How does it open?"

"How the fuck should I know?" growled another voice. "You were the one that killed the old maester. Only he knows how to open it."

"Is he dead?" the first voice asked and Luwin now knew that was Black Lorren.

He heard footsteps approach and he controlled his breathing. "He's gone down to the Drowned God," said another voice after a moment.

"Fuck!" said another one. "What now?"

"The Hunter's Gate and the Wolfswood," said Black Lorren. "Every man for himself. Saddle as many horses for us as we need and send the rest out to help provide cover. Scatter and make for the western shore and pray we find a ship to take us home."

"What about the gold?"

"Bugger it," Black Lorren said. "You carry it if you want. I ride light."

"And the people?" another voice asked.

"Bugger them, too," Black Lorren replied. "You can stay and kill them if you want. Most like they'll kill you first. It will be dawn soon. We go now or never, and piss on Theon Greyjoy and his folly. I hope the Starks find him and skin him alive. Let's go."

"What is dead may never die," said one quietly and the rest repeated it and then they left.

The smoke continued and Luwin knew the castle and maybe the town was burning. He saw the glow of fires above the walls of the godswood. Dawn soon came and then he saw black smoke rising above the walls. If the fire got in here he knew he was going to die in more agony than he was already in.

A long time later he heard footsteps approach and then a cry of anguish and people were running and then he felt a hand on his shoulder and heard a voice he thought he would never hear again.

"Maester Luwin!" Sansa Stark cried in fear and he opened his eyes and before him swam a vision of loveliness, with the auburn hair of the Tullys and the strong features of a northern lady.

"Sansa," he gasped and then he heard another voice.

"He's alive!" said Arya Stark and then she spoke to someone else. "Gendry, get my father and mother! Quick! And tell them to bring the army maester!"

Then he saw Arya and she had short hair and dirt on her face and he smiled at her and she had tears in her eyes. "Don't cry, my child," he said in a bare whisper.

"What happened?" Sansa asked in worry.

"Where are Bran and Rickon?" Arya asked next.

"Safe," he said and then more feet came running and soon Eddard and Catelyn Stark were there. Eddard's grim face was filled with sadness and fear as he looked from Luwin's face to his wound. Catelyn was shouting for a maester, who came running a moment later. The black haired army maester Luwin knew. He had been a maester for White Harbor for a time, and Luwin knew he had traveled south with the army.

"We will help you," Catelyn was saying, as she held his bloody hand. "You are strong. You will live."

"I fear not, my lady. My wound is mortal," said Luwin in a bare whisper and Sansa cried and so did Arya. A big lad with black hair was behind her, a hand on her shoulder. Arya turned and buried her face in his chest and he held her tight as sobs racked her body.

The maester opened Luwin's robes and looked at his wound and shook his head. "How long ago?"

"Two days, I think," said Luwin after a moment.

"It is too late," said the maester to Eddard Stark. "He is lucky to have lived this long." Not so lucky, Luwin thought. He would never wish such pain on anyone, not even Theon Greyjoy.

"I knew you were coming home," he gasped to Eddard. "I had to wait, to tell you."

"We are home," said Eddard Stark. "What Theon Greyjoy left to us at least. My friend, where are Bran and Rickon?"

"Safe…I sent them away, with Hodor, and the Reed children and...and Osha. They did not find you?"

"No," said Catelyn Stark, her face tight and her lips trembling. "We have not seen them."

"He needs milk of the poppy," said the maester.

"Not yet," said Luwin, even as more pain coursed through him. "I must tell all I know."

As the army maester left to get his medicines, Luwin spoke. And in small bits, with gasps of pain, he told them it all. At once Eddard stood and shouted commands to unseen nearby men, and he commanded them to find Robb and send patrols to the Wolfswood and the Kingsroad and to kill the ironmen but spare Theon Greyjoy for his justice. And above all he told them to find Bran and Rickon and the others and bring them back to Winterfell. More men he sent into the tunnel after Luwin told them how to open it. And then by the time it was done the army maester had returned with the milk of the poppy.

"This much will be fatal," the army maester told him as he held a large cup of the milky white substance.

Luwin smiled. "I am already dead. Thank you my friend. I command you to be maester of Winterfell now."

"The Citadel in Old Town decides that," said the army maester.

"You will take over until a decision arrives," Eddard told him. "And I will recommend you."

The army maester nodded. "As you command, my lord. I have more people to look after. By your leave."

Eddard Stark bid him go help those in need, and after another sad look at Luwin, the army maester handed the cup to Eddard and left them. Now Luwin was alone with the Starks and the black haired lad holding Arya. Eddard turned to the lad.

"Gendry, take the girls away."

"Yes, my lord," said Gendry and Sansa cried once more and begged Luwin not to die and held Luwin's hand tight.

"It is my time, child, do not worry. I will soon be at peace."

And then her mother pulled her away. Arya flung herself at Luwin and hugged him and then kissed his cheek once and looked at him, her eyes pools of tears. "Thank you for teaching me about the stars."

"May the gods look after you both," said Luwin to Arya and Sansa and then the big lad named Gendry led them away, both sobbing as he wrapped his two big arms around their shoulders.

"It is time," Eddard said to him, his grim face full of sadness.

Catelyn Stark's composure failed her at last and she sobbed. "I…I have no words to thank you for all you have done for me and this family."

"It is enough to know all your children are well, my lady. Find them, save them."

"You have already done that, my friend," Eddard said and then Luwin nodded once, and Eddard Stark raised the cup of milk of the poppy to his lips and he drank deeply. He coughed once and then it went down, and as it filled his throat and stomach and bowels he felt renewed pain and then in a moment it was gone and a wonderful dullness crept over his body and his innards, and then he let out a long sigh and felt himself slipping away. He saw their faces once more and said his last words.

"May the gods protect your family through all your days," he whispered and then his head went back and Catelyn Stark wept in loud gasps and her husband held her tight. The last thing Maester Luwin saw in this mortal world was the blue sky and the red leaves of the weirwood and the branches of the massive tree, and then he looked on the human face carved in the trunk, and wondered how strangely human it truly was. Then blackness came to his eyes and he saw and felt no more and the gods took him to his final resting place in the heavens.


	36. Chapter 36 Eddard

**Ned Stark Lives! Chapter 36 Eddard**

As the Stark family watched, two soldiers carried Maester Luwin's body out of the godswood and took him to a wagon that the two Silent Sisters of Winterfell used to take bodies from the castle. As he was laid in the wagon, one of the Sisters pointed silently to the ring of metal links that Maester Luwin wore tight around his neck. Eddard Stark understood what she wanted and shook his head. "No, it will be buried with him." He had spent years forging his links and Ned knew he would have wanted to be buried with them. The Sisters bowed to them and then wheeled away Maester Luwin. Arya and Sansa let out small sobs, and Gendry had an arm around Arya's shoulders and Catelyn Stark held Sansa. As Ned watched the body leave the castle for the last time, he felt an overwhelming sadness.

"Now he is with the gods," his wife said quietly.

"It's not fair," said Arya as she sniffled. "He never hurt anyone."

"Aye," Ned replied heavily. He turned to his daughters. "He was a good man and don't ever forget that. We will say a service for him on the morrow."

"There is no septon," Catelyn Stark said, anger in her voice. "How will we say a service?"

"We can say some words for him," Ned told her. She held to the new gods fiercely, he knew, more so in these last months than in all her years. But the septon was dead, drown in a well by the ironmen to please their god, according to the stories the Winterfell people were telling them.

"The fires are mostly out," Sansa observed.

"We have to see what the ironmen left to us," Ned told them. "Let's…"

But his wife interrupted him. "Ned…Bran and Rickon are still out there."

"And good men are looking for them," he replied, wanting nothing more than to jump on his horse and race out there as well but knew he couldn't, not yet. "Our place is here, for now, to help our home and its people. You and the girls check the Great Keep. Gendry, Mikken is still hurt. I need you to help the apprentice at the smithy."

"Yes, my lord. I think the smithy was burnt though," Gendry replied.

"See the apprentice armorer and find out what you can recover from it."

"I'll help," Arya said and in a moment she and Gendry went off to find the apprentice and head to the smithy in the inner courtyard.

Then Roslin and Jeyne Poole came over towards them with two little boys. "These are the boys my father sent to foster here, my lord," Roslin said to Ned. "Both called Walder, but we call him Little Walder and this one Big Walder." She saw the confused look on Ned's face. "Big Walder was bigger when they were small boys, but now Little Walder is bigger."

"Aye," he replied as he looked at Big and Little Walder. "I am Eddard Stark. How fair you?"

"Good, my lord," said Big Walder but Little Walder fumed.

"They left without us! Left us here with the ironmen!"

"Not to fret," Catelyn said with a gentle smile. "You are here now and safe. I am Lady Stark. Come, all of you, we will go to the Great Keep and make sure our home is in order." Sansa, Jeyne, and Roslin followed her and the two Frey boys trailed behind.

Ned also moved further into the castle, into the large inner courtyard. He stood there for a while and surveyed the damage done to the home his ancestors had lived in for thousands of years. The fires had damaged the stables, the kitchens, the armory, part of the roof of the great hall, the guest house where visitors slept, and even the bridge between the Great Keep and armory. The fires were mostly out now, but the stench of smoke and ash filled the air. Many people were here, soldiers of his army and Winterfell people picking through the ruins, looking to salvage what they could, making sure no new fires erupted. Arya and Gendry and the apprentice armorer were over by the smithy, seeing what they could recover from its smoking remains.

He felt a burning anger inside, an anger at those who had done this but also at himself for leaving here in the first place, and for all that had followed.

As he thought on this Samson, the new steward of Winterfell, approached and spoke to him. He was a younger man than Vayon Poole had been, but he had trained under Poole and knew what he was doing. He was not tall or short and had straight brown hair and brown eyes and was a bit thin. Robb had appointed him before going south with his army.

"Maester Luwin is the only one dead," Samson said. "Except for the nine men killed during the first attack, my lord."

"Nine men, plus our maester," Ned said, unable to hide the anger in his voice. To those ten he had to add his guardsmen and household staff he had taken to King's Landing only to be slaughtered by the Lannisters. Almost one hundred more. How many faces would be missing from the great hall the next time they held a feast?

"How many wounded?" he asked the steward next.

"Some dozen," he said. "A few during the attack, more with burns from trying to put out fires. The army maester, ah, Maester William, is looking after them now."

"How many ironmen dead?"

"Lord Umber and Lord Robb's men killed seventeen of them this morning as they tried to escape into the Wolfswood. That makes eleven who escaped."

"Twenty-eight. Are you sure that was how many were here?"

"Aye, my lord. I counted them as best I could and Maester Luwin as well and we both agreed it was twenty-eight. Twenty-six warriors, Greyjoy, and his squire. Twenty-eight."

"Maester Luwin said three went into the tunnel with Greyjoy, along with the squire called Wex and my kennel master."

"Aye," Samson said. Then his face looked a bit stricken. "I am sorry, my lord, about Maester Luwin. The ironmen…they locked the gates to the godswood and warned us not to enter. Of course, we knew Luwin was missing. The one called Black Lorren told us he went with Theon Greyjoy to find Bran and Rickon. We…we could have saved him otherwise."

"No, you would have died as well if the ironmen saw you helping him," Ned told him. "Besides, he was beyond help. The wound the maester suffered was mortal. There is no one to blame but Greyjoy and his men. Now tell me about the damage."

"What you can see here my lord is the most of what damage was done to Winterfell. The fires did not burn long before we and Lord Umber's men set to putting them out. But it will take time to rebuild and will be costly. The town…the town is mostly destroyed. But all of those living there survived."

"Good," Ned replied, thankful for some small mercies the gods had shown. "We must rebuild the town first and quickly, before winter comes. What about the food and the coin vault?"

"Untouched, my lord, except for what they ate while here. I think they planned to take the gold, but your men surprised them by arriving so quickly and just before the dawn yesterday."

"That is good," Ned replied. "We will have need of all of the food for the coming winter, and some of the gold to pay for repairs. I want you to start making lists of what we need. We will get timber from the Wolfswood, and other supplies we can order from White Harbor."

Before Samson could reply, a guardsman shouted from a nearby wall. "Lord Stark! Lord Robb is returning!"

Just then the gate to the inner courtyard opened and Robb and many men rode in on horses. They all looked tired and more than a few were bloodstains and three sported bandages on arms and legs, but Robb looked unharmed. He swiftly dismounted as his father approached him.

"What news?" Ned Stark asked his son right away.

"Six of them we ran down. They fought and now they are all dead," Robb told him. "Except for Theon. He wasn't with them!"

"I know," Ned told his son and then explained all he knew. As he spoke Arya had come over from the forge with Gendry behind her. Ned saw the look of anguish on his son's face when he told him about Maester Luwin.

"Dead?" he asked, looking from his father to his sister, hoping it was not true.

"Yes," Arya told her older brother, her voice constricted. "Sansa and I found him in the godswood. Still alive but…but…" She couldn't finish the story, and looked like she wanted to cry again. Her eyes were still red from crying, Ned noticed. Or maybe it was from the smoke.

"Aye, he died soon after," Ned said to Robb with a weary sigh.

"And Bran and Rickon are still out there now?" Robb asked, his voice now full of anger.

"The Greatjon took a party to the Kingsroad and Roose Bolton is leading another in the Wolfswood and Lady Mormont and her daughter took some of their men into the tunnel," Ned told him. "They will find them and bring Theon back to face our justice."

Robb immediately turned and mounted his horse. "I'm going as well. Give me twenty fresh men."

Ned was about to protest, to say his son was tired and needed rest, but he also wanted to be out there. He knew his place was here in Winterfell, supervising the putting out of fires and making sure all was well, but every fiber of his being wanted to be out their looking for his sons. Now that the fires were out he could not stand it any longer. "Wait for me," he told Robb.

"And me!" Arya said in a fierce tone.

Ned was about to tell her 'no' when Gendry beat him to it. "No," he said to her, not harshly but still firmly. "There are men enough going and you're exhausted. And if you go, I'm going, too."

She glared at him and had a protest on her lips but he stared back at her and then her look softened and she nodded once. "Aye," was all she said.

Ned looked at his daughter. "We will find them, not to worry. Tell your mother where we are going."

She agreed and then his horse was brought to him and Ned mounted. Some fresh men were quickly found and they mounted fresh horses and Robb had sense enough to get a fresh horse for himself as well. Grey Wind had been out with him hunting ironmen and looked like he still wanted to go out again and came right up beside Robb as he mounted his fresh horse.

"Which gate?" Robb asked his father.

"East Gate," Ned told his son. "They've been gone two days. If that wildling woman has any sense she is on the Kingsroad by now looking for us. If the gods are good Lord Umber has already found them and they are coming home."

The gods were good, for once, and Robb and Ned and their men had not ridden an hour north on the Kingsroad when they saw Lord Umber's party coming toward them. As Ned looked at them he saw that a small boy was sitting on the saddle in front of the Greatjon and the unmistakable bulk of the stable boy Hodor sitting on another horse with another boy in front of him. It was Bran and Rickon.

Ned almost cried in joy as he saw his sons and then he kicked his horse and galloped forward, with Robb at his side. As they approached Rickon's voice rang out across the Kingsroad.

"Father! Robb!"

In moments Ned was off his horse and the Greatjon climbed down from his and placed Rickon on the ground. Ned's little boy was soon running to his father's open arms. He hugged him tight and lifted him from the ground and kissed his cheeks and Rickon was laughing and giggling like the small boy he was. Then Ned saw Hodor, off his horse and carrying Bran, and Ned's heart gave a twist as he laid eyes on his crippled son after so long. He handed Rickon to Robb and then held out his arms for Bran. But Bran spoke first, his tone formal and serious for one who had only counted eight name days.

"I am sorry Father for yielding Winterfell to Theon and his men."

"No, my little lord," Ned replied, smiling at his son. "There is no reason to be sorry. You did what was right. You protected your people."

"Not all of them," Bran said sadly. "Alebelly is dead and Hayhead and the septon and many others. Lord Umber told us Maester Luwin was badly wounded."

"Aye," said Ned and his heart was heavy. "I'm sorry Bran, but…but..."

"He is dead?" Bran asked and Ned could only nod. Bran did not cry for Maester Luwin, but his face was filled with sadness.

"The wound was too grievous, I am afraid," Ned explained. "But his strength and will kept him alive until we came home so he could tell us where you were. Come, my son. It is time to return home."

Ned held out his arms and Hodor placed Bran in them and Ned felt a shock at how heavy Bran was now, despite his injuries. His son was growing, Ned realized. But he would never fully heal, and never walk again, and never lie with a woman or have babies of his own, and for that Ned cursed the Kingslayer. In all the time he was at Riverrun, Ned never once spoke to Jamie Lannister. He feared that if he had he would have killed Ser Jamie with his bare hands for what he suspected he had done to Bran. And he couldn't have done that if he ever wanted to see his daughters freed from the Lannister clutches.

Ned carried Bran to his horse and soon they were mounted again. As he sat on his horse, Robb and Rickon climbed on Robb's horse. Then Ned noticed the two great direwolves prowling nearby, Summer and Shaggydog, sniffing and yelping alongside Grey Wind, reintroducing themselves to their long missing brother. All three were soon loping along the west side of the Kingsroad, sniffing the ground as if searching for food.

Then Ned spied two youngsters in green and brown clothing who could only be the Reed children, and he also saw a tall woman who must surely be Osha. All three of them were on horses, each riding behind one of Lord Umber's men. He would need have words with them all later, especially the woman, who had once tried to harm her sons, as Robb told him, and later helped save Bran. It was going to be difficult to decide what to do with her.

As they rode back to Winterfell the Greatjon told them how they had found his sons and the others hiding in an abandoned crofter's log home set off the Kingsroad in a stand of forest.

"We would have missed them except one of the direwolves was on the road, looking right at us as we rode up," the Greatjon explained. He lowered his voice a bit as he rode alongside Ned and Bran. "I swear Ned, that direwolf knew who I was, the look it gave me. Now Grey Wind has had a taste of my hand, so he knows my scent and taste for sure, but how could that one, Summer the boys called it, know me so well?"

"Aye?" Ned replied with a chuckle. "Sure you weren't in your cups around that time?"

"NO!" the Greatjon shouted, startling Ned's horse so he had to grab the reigns tight. Robb had overheard them and laughed and so did Bran a little.

As they rode further Ned whispered in Bran's ear. "Was it you looking at Lord Umber on the Kingsroad, my son?"

"No, Father," Bran said matter-of-factly. "It was Summer."

"Bran…Arya and Sansa have told me the truth of this."

Bran said nothing for a long moment. "What truth?" he finally asked.

"They can dream of the direwolves as well. Of being inside them."

Bran craned his neck around to look at his father, astonishment in his eyes. "Both of them?"

"Aye…well, not Sansa anymore."

"Lady is dead."

"Aye," Ned said, ruing once more the terrible deed he had been forced to commit. "We will talk more on this when we return to Winterfell."

Robb rode up beside the Greatjon. "There was no sign of Greyjoy?"

"None," the Greatjon told them, a mad look on his face. "Bran and the woman and the Reed children said they thought they were followed on the first night, but they never saw any ironmen."

"Is that the way of it, Bran?" Robb asked.

"Yes," Bran said. "We heard something behind us…it sounded like dogs barking. But we never saw anyone. Osha made us run all night. She had to carry Rickon. We never saw Theon."

"Then he's still out there somewhere," Robb said through gritted teeth.

"We'll find him," Ned told his eldest boy. "And justice will be done." Ned Stark knew there was only one kind of justice he would give Theon Greyjoy. He had better make sure Ice was nice and sharp.

Ned sent a fast rider ahead to tell Winterfell they had found the boys and an hour later they rode through the East Gate again and almost the whole castle and many from the army were waiting for them at its entrance, with Cat, Arya, and Sansa almost in tears again and most of the people cheering, with many of them in tears as well.

As Robb lifted Rickon to the ground he cried out and ran to his mother and she hugged him tight. Ned took Bran down from the horse and carried him to see his mother and sisters.

"My brave boy," Catelyn Stark said as she kissed Bran's brow and held his hands. At last Bran let a few tears fall. Then Ned carried him into their home as Sansa and Arya danced around and asked a dozen questions and Ned told them to wait until the boys were fed and rested to hear all the stories. Nymeria was there as well and the four direwolves leaped and fought and played and caused a general ruckus as the group moved into Winterfell.

Hodor took Brad from Ned and Cat immediately told Hodor to take him to the new maester, William, to check over and then Rickon was dragged along as well for an examination, the small boy protesting the whole way as Sansa and Arya pulled him along. As they left people began to return to the business of cleaning up. As it was near the supper hour Ned order a feast prepared for the people and the remains of his army. Then he took a look at the Reed children and Osha, standing nearby. "Come with me," he said to them in his lord's voice. "We have much to discuss. Robb, you come as well."

They went into the empty great hall and sat at one of the lower tables, Osha and Meera and Jojen on one side, Robb and Ned on the other. The smell of smoke filled the great hall. Ned looked up at the ceiling where one section of roofing and wooden beams had burnt and knew he had to have that repaired quickly before more rains came.

"First," Ned began, as he looked at the three people across the table. "I thank you for helping my sons."

"We were running away too," said Meera. "My lord," she quickly added.

"Aye, I suppose so," Robb said to her. "Theon would have held you for hostage as well."

"Your father is well," Ned told them. "We saw him at Moat Cailin not ten days past. He and your people helped us a great deal in defeating the ironmen there. I suppose you will want to return home now. We will…"

"No," Jojen said, interrupting Ned. "I…" But his sister grabbed his arm suddenly and he kept quiet.

"What's this?" Ned asked sharply.

"The boy thinks your son is special," Osha spoke, for the first time.

"He is," Jojen said. "I…I'm sorry my lord. But I can't leave yet. Not until Bran flies."

Meera let out a groan. "I'm sorry, Lord Stark. He thinks Bran is meant to do something important. Jojen has the greensight.

"The what?" Robb asked in puzzlement.

"His dreams come true," Osha told him.

"Greensight," Ned added. "Their father explained some to me. Let us leave this for now."

"Will you send us away?" Meera asked.

"No…not yet, not if you don't wish to leave," Ned replied. "But soon I will have some truths from you about this business with Bran. But not today. Go and rest and clean up and come back for the meal."

They stood and dipped their heads and left. Now Robb and Ned were left alone with Osha and Ned put on his lord's face and turned a hard look toward her.

"My son tells me you tried to kill Bran."

"Not kill," Osha said without any fear in her voice. "We just wanted his horse and whatever trinkets he had on him. Was just trying to get south before those with blue eyes come."

"Blue eyes," Ned said, knowing what she meant. The Others. He had heard the stories himself from Old Nan when he was just a boy and she was already grey-haired and called Old Nan.

"She thinks the Others are coming back," Robb said with a shake of his head in disdain.

"Not think," Osha said to him with strength in her voice. "I know. And you best be ready or there will be worse than fire and ironmen climbing the walls of your great castle. The old maester, he knew I spoke the truth. He asked me how to defeat them."

Much and more had gone on here while Ned was away and now he rued that Maester Luwin had no time to tell him it all in detail. "That matters not for now," Ned told Osha. "You and your companions trespassed on our lands, attacked my sons, and only by the gods' mercy Robb spared your life."

"Aye, this is all true," Osha told him, still not flinching.

Ned could see she was unafraid. Did she think he would not punish her? Or did she just not care about death?

"You had a chance to run," he said next. "Why didn't you?"

"I couldn't leave them boys alone with Hodor and them other two," Osha replied. "Smart as they think they is the Wolfswood and the northlands is no bog. If Greyjoy had caught up with us, what would have happened to them all?"

"He'd have killed Hodor and maybe the Reeds as well if they got in the way," Robb answered. "You would have died for certain."

She grunted. "Maybe. But I would've taken some skin off him before I died. And he didn't catch us cause I made them run all night. You ask them, ask the little lords. The first night we did not sleep until near dawn, tired as we all were. I pushed them till they were in tears, the Reeds and big Hodor as well. After we heard the dogs barking behind us they needed no more push from me."

Ned silently listened to her, unable to decide what to do. "Bran said Maester Luwin had to almost beg you to take them." The story of their escape Ned had gotten from Bran as they had ridden back to Winterfell.

"Aye, he did. I feared what you lot would do to me if we found you."

Robb almost laughed. "You don't seem afraid."

"I fear no man. All men and women die in the end. But if you kill me make sure you burn my body. I don't want to come back with blue eyes."

After she said that, Ned decided. She had helped his sons and he could not ignore that. Not only because he was grateful, but because he knew repaying her with her death would cause unease among his people. Many in the castle and his army knew who she was and what she had done by now. No, Ned Stark would not kill a woman who had helped his family, despite her past crimes.

"You have leave to go, if you wish," he told Osha. "We will not stop you."

She seemed about to rise but then hesitated. "I got nowhere to go."

"South was your plan," Robb reminded her.

She looked down now, and Ned could see she wanted to ask for their help but wouldn't, too proud to beg.

"What were you north of the Wall?" he asked her and she looked up and had a strong look in her eyes.

"Spear woman," she said at once.

A spear woman, a warrior of the northern wildlings. His brother Benjen had told him enough stories of the tough wild women, who took no guff from their men and fought and died as equals with them. But could he trust her with a spear in her hands inside his castle? Well, she had had his sons at her mercy for two whole days and had not harmed them. He decided once more. "You serve in the kitchens two more months till I see you are truly willing to join civilized men. Then I will let you join the guard if you wish."

"I wish," she said quickly. "I suppose I'm needed in the kitchens now." She stood and was about to go when Robb stopped her with a sharp word.

"It is common courtesy to show respect to a lord by dipping your head and calling him such."

"We got no lords or ladies north of the Wall," she told them. "And which of you is Lord of Winterfell now?"

"He is," Ned and Robb said at the same time and a smile came to Osha's face and then the two Stark men chuckled. Osha dipped her head slightly. "My lords," she said and then went off to the kitchens.

"I am surprised she bent so easy," Robb said after she had left. "She was so wild when we first caught her. Oh, she begged for her life that day, and called me lord of Stark, but I think she feared the direwolves more than us after she saw what they did to her companions."

"No, she did not bend then or now," his father told him. "She just wants a warm bed and food and has no friends and nowhere else to go. And she is afraid."

"Afraid to head south?"

"No. Afraid of what is coming from the north. At least here there are people and perhaps some protection."

Robb almost laughed but he saw the serious look on his father's face. "Come, Father, you don't believe all that nonsense about the Others? Do you?"

"Many think they are myths," Ned told him. "But all myths have some basis in truth. Dragons once flew over these lands, we know that to be true, but in another hundred years will people still believe it? Valyrian steel is not only strong because good smiths worked it hundreds of years ago. Many believe those old smiths had the ways of magic, but is that the truth or just a myth now? And someone built the Wall a long time ago to keep something evil on the other side. Not the wildlings and giants as many think. Something truly evil. The Others. The blue eyed men."

Robb was silent for a long moment, then suddenly spoke. "That Night's Watch man. The deserter. The day we found the direwolf pups."

"Aye," Ned said, remembering as well. "He raved on about seeing dead people come to life, dead people with blue eyes. I thought it was the fear in him. Or madness. Maybe it was not."

"What do we do?"

"We send a raven to Castle Black to find out any news. We must have words with Jon and Lord Mormont. And I want to know if there is any new news about Benjen." Yoren had told him how Benjen had gone ranging and not returned and all feared him dead. That had weighed heavy on Ned's mind as he had traveled from King's Landing but too much else happened and he drove it from his mind for a time. Now here in the north it all came back to him of a sudden and he worried that his last sibling was truly dead.

Robb placed a hand on his father's arm. "He lives. I am sure of it. He is the best ranger there ever was."

"Aye…but it has been months," Ned said. He stood suddenly. "Come. We will find out nothing sitting here and brooding. The Night's Watch will know if anything is happening north of the Wall. And we must find out what Osha told Maester Luwin about the Others. Let us go to the maester's tower. Perhaps he took notes."

Ten minutes later they were in the maester's tower by the Hunter's Gate. Inside on the lower floors were many of the wounded. Here he found Maester William treating a winter town's woman for burns on her arms. He was applying a thick whitish colored salve he took from a clay jar.

"Your family is in Maester Luwin's chambers," he told Ned.

"Your chambers now, maester," Ned replied.

"For the nonce my lord," William replied. "I have not forged so many links to be a maester of a great place such as Winterfell. I will send a raven to Old Town soon and tell them of Maester Luwin's passing. Then they will pick someone with much more experience to come and replace him."

"That will take months," Robb said.

"And war still lies between here and Old Town," Ned added. "It would please me if you will serve for now, Maester William. And you will stay here in this tower and care for the ravens and the people."

"Yes, my lord, I will serve you and yours. For now," William said and then Ned and Robb let him get back to his work and they climbed the winding stairs to the upper levels where Maester Luwin's chambers were, below the rookery.

Inside they found their family with Hodor. They were busy picking up many papers and scrolls and books and other items from the floor and placing them on shelves and in bookcases. Apparently the ironmen had been here making a mess, but it was not so bad and nothing seemed permanently damaged. Bran sat on Maester's Luwin's bed in a corner and Catelyn sat on a chair at his big table, reading a scroll, while Arya, Sansa, Rickon and Hodor cleaned up. Well, Rickon wasn't really cleaning up, just playing with some papers on the floor.

Cat looked up at him and Robb as they entered and she had a terrible look in her eyes and Ned knew something was wrong right away. "What is it?" he asked.

She held out the scroll and then looked to Bran. "It had your name on it, Ned," she said. "I…I thought it was some message to you, about the ironmen or something about Winterfell. I…gods….it's all true."

He didn't understand and snatched the scroll from her and read and as he read his hands trembled and he closed his eyes and felt anger course through his body. "The Kingslayer," he said in anger as he opened his eyes.

"What is it?" Sansa asked and all of them were looking at their parents, except Bran who was looking down.

"He pushed me," Bran said quietly and his older brother and sisters all stared at him. Bran looked up suddenly. "I remembered, Father. I told Maester Luwin."

"Jaime Lannister pushed you from the tower?" Robb asked his little brother.

"Aye," Bran said and Ned felt his heart skip a beat and then Arya voiced what they all thought.

"He must die!" she growled as she pounded her fist on the table.

"Gods," Robb said next, also in anger. "We had him at our mercy in Riverrun for weeks!"

"And if the Kingslayer had died your sisters would have also," Catelyn said sharply to her oldest son.

Rickon spoke up from where he sat on the floor, playing with some papers. "Who is the Kingslayer?" he asked in his small boy's innocent voice.

"A bad man," Sansa told him. "A bad man who hurt Bran."

"Sansa, Arya, take Rickon the baths," their mother suddenly told them. "This is not for his ears."

"Yes, Mother," Sansa said. "Come, Rickon, time to get clean."

"You as well, girls," Ned said. "And Arya, put on…"

"A dress, I know Father," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Supper will be in about an hour's time, be ready," Catelyn told them.

"Can…can Gendry come to the feast?" Arya asked, with hope in her voice.

"Yes, he has served us well and should not be left out, but he cannot sit with you," Ned told her. "The Frey boys will be there and it would not do to have them asking questions."

Arya nodded. "I guess not."

"Who's Gendry?" Bran asked.

"Arya's…friend," Sansa told him.

"He's the new apprentice smith I took from King's Landing," Ned told Bran.

"Off you go girls," Catelyn said quickly to forestall any more questions and soon the girls, Rickon, and also Hodor, had left.

Robb, Ned and Catelyn all looked at Bran. "Tell us what you know," Ned asked right away.

"It's all written down," Catelyn said with worry in her tone. "Does he have to repeat it?" She came out of the chair and went to Bran's side on the bed and wrapped an arm around him.

"I will hear it in his own words," Ned told his wife, his voice firm and after a moment she nodded.

"I...was climbing the wall of the Broken Tower," Bran started to explain. "And I heard voices. I looked in the window and they were…they were...like a man and a woman…who are married."

"They were fornicating?" Ned asked, and his wife gasped and looked at him sternly.

"Ned, he's just a boy!"

"I know what he means," Bran replied, in a tone that said he was not a boy. "Yes…they were fornicating."

"And then what happened?" Robb asked.

"He…he grabbed me," Bran said. "And they talked and asked me something. I can't remember it all. And then he said something else…I can't remember what he said. Then…he pushed me and I fell and…and that's all I remember."

"Are you sure, Bran?" Ned asked in his lord's voice with his lord's face on. "Are you absolutely sure it was Jamie Lannister and his sister the Queen?"

"Aye," he told his father. "Absolutely."

Ned nodded and then grinned at his son. "You did well, my son. Robb, take him to the baths and have one yourself."

"Come, little lord of Winterfell," Robb said as he scooped up his brother. "Time to get the smell and dirt of the road from us."

After they left Ned sat in the chair and looked at his wife. "What do we do now?" she asked.

"What can we do?" he replied with a weary expulsion of air. "We have suspected this truth for months now. The Lannisters are our enemies, despite the peace. And the Kingslayer sits outside King's Landing surrounded by tens of thousands of his sworn bannermen. There is no easy way to bring him to justice."

"Stannis Baratheon can," Catelyn said, with hope in her voice.

"Aye, if he defeats them. If he captures Ser Jaime, he will kill him without hesitation. Then we will have justice. At least some form of it.

"I would rather have him confess his crimes before he dies," his wife answered. "So the whole realm knows what a monster he truly is."

"I think they already know. The stories Stannis has…"

"Not stories anymore," Catelyn said quickly. She shook her head in disdain. "His own sister…while she was married to King Robert."

"Even before then, if what the Imp implied is true."

"You must write to the new King, Ned. Perhaps he can hold the Kingslayer if he captures him to await proper justice. There…there is a raven message from Stannis, here somewhere."

She stood and went to the table and moved around many papers and finally pulled out a strip of parchment and handed it to her husband. He read quickly.

"He wants my loyalty, but he offers nothing in return. There is no mention of reinstating my titles at all."

"He will do it, Ned, you know that. And you know what he is like. You must first bend the knee before he offers anything."

"Aye, it is what he wants," Ned replied. "I will write to him soon." Then he remembered why he and Robb had come here in the first place. "That woman Osha…I have pardoned her."

"Good," Catelyn said. "The people would have found it strange if you had clapped her in irons or killed her after helping our sons."

Ned smiled. "I was thinking the same. She will work in the kitchens for now, but talk to Gage and asked him how she is. She…she spoke on the Others."

His wife scoffed. "Fairy tales from Old Nan she must have heard or Bran told her."

Ned's smile faded. "No, my love. She truly believes in them. Her people do also. Much and more is happening up north and we need information. Were there any raven messages from Castle Black?"

"None that I have found," she said. "It's Benjen you are worried about, isn't it?"

"Aye…and Jon, and the rest of the Night's Watch. I need to know what is happening. But it will have to wait, like so many other things. My wife, off to the baths with you as well and make sure our children are presentable. On the way ask Maester William to come here."

"Yes, my husband," she said and then hesitated before she left. "The maester…he took a quick look at Bran and Rickon and said they are well. Except…except…"

And then she let a tear fall and he hugged her tight. "We are home now," Ned told her as she sobbed quietly. "We will raise Bran as best we can and make sure he is well and happy for all his life."

"Ned...he will never be a whole man."

"No…the gods and the Kingslayer have taken that from him and us. But we will make sure he will be as much of a man as he can be." He kissed her once and she wiped her tears away and then left him.

Ned did not mention what the Reed boy had said nor what his father had said, not yet. He needed to speak to the Reed boy more and then he would tell Cat. But not yet.

Maester William came and together they composed three messages. The first was for Old Town, to tell the Citadel of Maester Luwin's passing and to request instructions. Ned added that he had faith in Maester William and would gladly accept him as their new maester. William thank him for his support and then sealed the message.

The second was to Castle Black to Lord Mormont, asking for news of Benjen and of happenings north of the Wall. Inside he added a smaller scroll with a message for Jon, informing him that all were home and well now and asking how he was.

The third message was for King Stannis and was the most difficult to write. Finally Ned and the maester settled on these words:

"_King Stannis Baratheon. I pledge my life and arms to your rule and the whole of the North stands behind your claim. It grieves me to tell you my King that I am afraid we can send no support at this time. Winterfell has been attacked by ironmen and has been badly damaged. We are still hunting them down. My people are tired and have just returned to their homes. The fall rains are here as well. We will send what food and arms we can spare by ship. May the gods grant you victory over your enemies and bring peace to the kingdoms. Eddard Stark_."

He had written it as small as he could to fit on the parchment. The business about Bran and the Kingslayer would have to wait. It was no time to be asking for justice when Stannis was fighting a war. And Ned truly believed Stannis would not wait one second before killing Ser Jaime if he was captured anyway.

"Why not add your titles?" the maester asked when Ned finished writing.

"I have no titles," Ned told him.

"Perhaps Lord Robb should have written the new king."

"No, it is my loyalty he wants. He will know I will not be so eager to help him while this issue of my titles is still undecided. For the time being Robb is Lord of Winterfell in any documents or correspondence."

"As you wish, my lord. But the people of Winterfell and the North still know you as their lord."

"Aye, that they do," Ned told him. "Very well, send them off and then join us in the great hall. It is long past time I took a bath."

Thirty minutes later, with his hair still damp, and dressed in clean and more refined clothing, Ned Stark lead his family into the great hall and everyone stood. All of the important lords of his army except Roose Bolton and Lady Mormont, still out hunting Theon Greyjoy, were present, as were many of his household and people of the castle, the Frey boys and the Reed children. He even spotted Gendry standing by a bench in the very rear with little Tim and Duncan. He saw Arya waving toward them and Gendry was smart enough not to wave back and attract attention. Catelyn glared at Arya and she grinned sheepishly and pulled her arm down. At least Arya was clean and dressed like a lady for a change.

Bran, Rickon, Sansa, Arya, and Jeyne sat with the Frey boys and the Reed children at the table in front of the raised dais and head table. Catelyn, Robb and his wife Roslin, and Lords Umber, Glover, and Tallhart and some minor lords sat at the head table. As he took his position at the head table, Ned was about to stand by the high seat of the Starks and then hesitated and Robb looked at him. "Father, it is your seat."

Ned grinned. "Aye…soon enough for certain." Ned looked out over at his people and raised a cup filled with wine. "To my people and my strong northern lords and ladies. I have looked forward to coming home for many a moon's turn now. To come here and find our home burning and our people attacked has grieved me much. But you have done me proud, doing your best to protect our home and people from an evil enemy. I want you to raise your cups, my lords and ladies and men and women of Winterfell and the north, raise your cups to my son, Brandon Stark, who did his duty and saved as many and as much as he could."

Bran was startled, Ned could see, as everyone raised their cups "TO BRAN!" they shouted and then drank deeply. Robb then shouted "HODOR!" and Bran turned ten shades of red as Hodor picked him up and held him high and ran with him on his shoulders, holding onto him tight, running around the great hall and more cheers came and more drink was consumed as all thanked Bran. After a few minutes of this Hodor returned Bran to his seat and cups were refilled by many servants.

"And now," Ned began a new speech. "To my army. Our army. You have valiantly served my son Robb and me in these past many weeks. Without your valor and the valor of many good men no longer with us I would still be a prisoner in King's Landing, my daughters as well. You have prevailed and have defeated our enemies. Raise your cups to our strong and brave northern army."

All did so and drank and then the Greatjon let out a bellow. "TO ROBB!" he shouted. "Who else can say they defeated the Kingslayer and Tywin Lannister!?" And all shouted and cheered again and Robb laughed out loud as the Greatjon picked him up in a big bear hug.

And so it went and more speeches were made, with the most important one given by Catelyn Stark, introducing Roslin to the assemblage and welcoming her to the family and promising to have a proper wedding feast for her later. And then all the food came out and it was a marvelous feast. Many and more dishes came and they ate and drank and wash away their sorrows for the time being. Many a toast was made to lost comrades and some tears were shed. Ned made sure he went around the room and sat with each table and heard from his people and his men how they felt. With the few Karstark men remaining he stayed a long time and listened to their laments and drank toasts to their lost lord and his sons and other lost comrades. Ned promised to write a long letter to their lord's wife and they asked him for it on the morrow as they wished to return home as soon as possible.

Late into the feast, a guard came into the great hall and found Ned and Robb sitting with Lords Glover and Tallhart.

"My lords, a messenger from Lord Bolton."

All four quickly rose and went outside. One of Bolton's men was standing there holding his horse's reins. "My lords, Lord Bolton sends his regards. It grieves me to tell you we found the body of your kennel master, Lord Stark."

"Farlen," Robb said sadly.

"How did he die?" Ned asked.

"His throat was slashed open, most likely by a sword," the messenger told them. "We buried him in the forest."

"And Greyjoy and his men?" Lord Glover asked.

"We have not found them," came the reply.

"What of Farlen's hounds?" Robb asked.

"They weren't with the body. They were gone, but Lord Bolton found their trail and he is after them. Perhaps Greyjoy and his men still have the dogs."

"Thank you for this news," Ned said. "Get yourself some food and then have a rest."

"I can't stand it, Father!" Robb exploded after the messenger left. "I want to…"

"No," Ned told his son sharply. "Roose Bolton and Lady Mormont will find them or they won't and it will make no difference if you are out there or not."

"I know Theon," Robb countered. "I know what he will do."

"And what is that?" Lord Glover asked Robb.

"Once he realizes he will never find Bran and Rickon he will head for the west, to his sister at your seat, Lord Glover. He will head for Deepwood Motte, as Maester Luwin said his sister told him in her message. If she is not there he will head for the sea to find a way home."

"My men march on the morrow for the Motte," Lord Glover said. "If he is there we will find him and return him to Winterfell. And kill his bitch of a sister while we are about it!"

"And I march for Torrhen's Square in the morning," Lord Tallhart said. "If there are any ironmen left we will find them."

Robb looked like he wanted to protest some more but then his words died on his lips and he kept silent.

"If you find Ser Rodrik on the road," Ned told Lord Tallhart. "You have leave to make use of him and his men to help you hunt ironmen."

"Aye," said Lord Tallhart. "I am sure he is already doing so."

Ned had to grin. "Aye, I suppose he is at that." After that Lords Glover and Tallhart returned to the feast.

Robb looked angry. "I want to capture Theon!" he said to his father with heat.

"What's it matter who captures him?"

"He betrayed me…us, our whole family! I trusted him!"

"Aye…and that was a mistake."

Robb looked in surprise at his father and Ned knew the rebuke stung him but it had to be said. "Robb…you are a great leader of men, and did so well against all odds. Your name will long live in our songs and histories of the north. But there is much more to being a lord than winning all your battles. You have to know people, your own people and your enemies, and remember who they are and where they come from and their history."

Robb nodded slowly. "Aye. I should…I should have never sent him to Pyke."

"His father is the one who put the seed of Theon's foul deeds in his head. Your mother was talking to the steward, Samson. Theon told Luwin and him about what happened when he returned to Pyke. How his father scorned him and shamed him for being soft. Luwin himself said Theon raved on about his dead brothers and how we helped force his father to bend the knee to Robert. That's why he attacked our home."

"He was my friend," Robb said with much regret in his voice.

"He was," Ned told his son. "But he forgot he was our hostage, as did we. His father reminded him."

"What will we do with him when we catch him?"

"He must die," Ned said.

Robb nodded. "Aye. He must."

"Come, my son, let us enjoy the feast and a least for one night shed some of our cares, for the time being."

The next day dawned clear and bright and Ned said a small prayer for the continued good weather which he knew could not last. In the morning many of the people and army went out of the East Gate into the town and just past it where the lichyard lay near the outer wall of Winterfell. The dead common people were all buried here and now one more body was added, that of Maester Luwin. As he was placed in the ground Ned said some solemn words and many more tears were shed for their lost friend and advisor. Sansa and Roslin and Jeyne and some other Winterfell women and girls sang a beautiful hymn for the departed and as they sang Ned tossed the first handful of dirt into the grave and then his wife follow and soon many others did the same. As Ned stood there thinking on many things, he knew he would sorely miss Luwin's wise counsel in the months and years to come.

Lord Glover's men left before noon, and Lord Tallhart's men soon after. Then the Karstark men left as well, carrying in a wagon the remains of their lord and his two sons, the only bodies they had carried so far north of all those that they had lost. Ned gave them the letter he had promised them. He also gave each group what food he could spare from Winterfell's stores for their journey home and all swore to keep an eye out for Theon Greyjoy and his remaining ironmen.

Lord Glover knew not what he would find when he returned to Deepwood Motte, whether the ironmen still held it or whether it was burnt to the ground. The Greatjon ordered two hundred of his men to go with them, under command of Lord Glover, and Ned added three hundred Winterfell men as well. Ned knew some were grumbling about this, having to march so soon after returning home, but he had to support Lord Glover in his time of need. Soon only Lords Umber and Bolton's few remaining men along with some few from Lady Mormont's Bear Island contingent remained camped around Winterfell.

All day was spent in cleaning and repairing and tending to all the details of their house. Ned spent much of it with the steward discussing what supplies they needed and what had to be done soon to make repairs before the really heavy fall rains came. As morning stretched into afternoon, the work continued, with people only taking short breaks for food and drink.

Night came on this second day and there was still no word about Theon Greyjoy or from Lord Bolton or Lady Mormont. Ned and Robb and the Greatjon discussed this and it was agreed to send riders in the morning to find them.

But that was not necessary. Soon after breakfast the next morning a great shout rang from the battlements. "Lord Bolton is returning! And he has a prisoner!" shouted a guard and soon Ned and Robb and many others were heading to the Hunter's Gate. Ned hoped he had Greyjoy but was soon disappointed. It was a young ironman, not Theon Greyjoy, attached to a long rope trialing behind Lord Bolton's horse.

"Lord Stark," Roose Bolton said in his soft voice as he and his men dismounted. "I bring a prisoner."

"Aye," said Ned. "Well done."

"Where is Greyjoy?" Robb demanded and Ned gave him a sharp look and Robb realized he had made a mistake. Ned was always wary of Bolton, knew him to be a dangerous man, who was much feared in his own lands. Robb had yet to learn that. "I beg pardon, Lord Bolton, but…what has happened?" Robb asked in a more gentle tone.

"We found four of them and three fought and died," Lord Bolton told them. "This one tried to run but we caught him. He was unarmed so we let him live. Of Greyjoy, there was no sign."

"Damn," Robb said. He looked at the prisoner who was just a boy. "Where is Theon Greyjoy?"

"You will get no answers from him," said Lord Bolton. "I believe he is a mute."

"Aye, he is, my lord," said Samson, standing behind Robb. "He is called Wex and he is…was…Greyjoy's squire."

Ned looked at the boy Wex. "Can you make your letters? Read and write?" The boy shook his head and Ned saw fear in his eyes and he quickly looked at Roose and then away. Something has gone on here, Ned thought, but that would have to wait. "Robb, take him to the cells and give him food and water. We will see if we can find a way to make him communicate with us later."

Robb used his dagger to cut the rope that tied the boy to Lord Bolton's horse and then took the boy Wex away.

"Come, let us eat and talk, Lord Bolton," Ned said. "Samson, see to his men's needs."

"Aye, my lord," the steward replied.

A short time later Ned and Roose Bolton were seated in the great hall at a lower table, Roose eating some food and both drinking wine.

"Tell me what happened," Ned commanded. "How did you find them?"

"They lit a fire," Roose replied. "And were cooking a rabbit over it. We smelled the smoke and found them. They were heading for the west and were almost out of the Wolfswood."

"They said nothing?"

"No, except their battle yells as they fought. I lost a good man to them, but they all died."

"And there was no sign of Greyjoy?"

"None."

"What of the kennel masters' dogs?"

"Gone as well, my lord."

"Aye," Ned said as he brooded on this. What did it all mean? Where was Greyjoy?

"I would see my son now," Roose said as he was about to stand up.

Ned looked at him in surprise. "Have you not heard? Theon released him more than a week past."

"Indeed? And why would Theon Greyjoy release my son?" There was a hint of suspicion in his tone.

"Maester Luwin spoke very briefly on it, but it seems Theon thought having your son loose would cause me trouble." Ned stared at Lord Bolton after he said this, waiting for his reply.

Roose nodded and spoke in his soft voice. "My son has done much to cause you and the north trouble already. I fear relations with White Harbor may never be good again."

"Lord Manderly is willing to put aside your differences if Ramsey agrees to annul his marriage to Lady Hornwood."

"He will, when I find him," Roose said with certainty. "If I find him. He may be anywhere by now."

"He still needs to be punished, Roose."

"And how would you suggest I do that, my lord? He is my own blood, despite being a bastard. Could you punish yours?"

Ned knew not if he meant punish his own blood, or just punish his own bastard, Jon Snow. But he knew for certain Roose was throwing the fact that he had a bastard as well into his face. But the boy all believed was Ned's bastard was not really his bastard, and besides he was not like Ramsey Snow at all. Far from it.

"I have left his punishment for you to decide, out of respect for your position and your support when I was a prisoner," Ned reminded him. "You may confine him, banish him, force him to do labor, or any other punishment within our laws."

"My father would have flayed me if I had done such to bring disorder to our lands."

"Flaying is outlawed in the north," Ned said through gritted teeth.

Roose smiled slightly. "Of course, my lord. Well, this is moot since he is in the wind."

Ned nodded and decided to move on to other matters. "What news of Lady Mormont?"

"We did not see her since the first day, but she said they would look to the west, the lands between the Wolfswood and the sea."

"Maybe the gods will allow her to find Greyjoy."

"We can only hope," said Roose. "I think it is past time I and my men returned home."

"Aye," said Ned, knowing he had done all he could. "If you find your son, let me know."

"Of course. By your leave, my lord, I will see to my men and prepare for our journey home."

Ned stood and Lord Bolton did as well and then after a slight dip of his head he left. Ned sat again and brooded on what just happened. The Boltons had long been the black sheep of the north, the one family which generation after generation had strained against authority. But they had been in no position to challenge the Starks or anyone else of note for centuries. This business with Lady Hornwood was the first serious disruption of the north since Ned came to be its lord. All because of Roose Bolton's bastard son.

Settling this issue with Lord Manderly back near the Moat had taken all of Ned's skill with words and conciliation. Roose had to promise to restore the Hornwood lands, force his son to annul the marriage, and give compensation to the Hornwoods and Manderlys for any losses in men during the clashes between the two sides. Privately, Lord Manderly had told Ned they should all just march on the Dreadfort and raze it to the ground and be done with it. Ned knew that if Lords Umber, Glover, and Tallhart and the others had heard this they would have agreed. None had any love for Roose Bolton or the Dreadfort. So he swiftly told Wyman Manderly that would not be done while he and his son were Lords of the North. Ned knew that once they started destroying their own people it was a slippery slope toward open warfare in the north. Enemies enough they had, south of the Neck and north of the Wall as well.

Late that afternoon Bolton and his men left, not even bothering to rest for a day, and the army around Winterfell grew smaller still. After making his goodbyes, Ned went to the walls and looked out over the Wolfswood and the lands surrounding Winterfell. It was his home and he was happy to be back but trouble was not over yet, and may not be for some time to come. Theon Greyjoy was still not run to ground. Maybe Lady Mormont or Ser Rodrik would find him. Perhaps he was already heading for Deepwood Motte. If only Roose had kept one of those men alive to question him. Well, he had, but the boy Wex could not tell them anything about Theon. Roose's bastard was also out there, maybe causing more trouble in the future. Ned knew he would have to issue an arrest warrant for him, and send it to all the major towns of the north.

As Ned stood on the walls brooding on this, the new maester, William, came up on the battlements. In his hands was a raven scroll. Close behind him came Robb.

"From King's Landing, my lord," William said as he handed over the tiny rolled scroll.

Ned swiftly opened it and read. It was from Stannis.

"_Lord Eddard Stark. I confirm you in all your titles and offices as Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. We have heard of your great victory at Moat Cailin and I expect you will be in Winterfell soon, if not already. At present, we are still besieged by the Lannisters. It is a stalemate. Send any aid you can. King Stannis Baratheon._"

He handed it to Robb who read it aloud. "Well, Father, I guess there is no more dispute as to who is Lord of Winterfell."

"No," Ned said, with a slight grin, but he had a hollow feeling inside.

Maester William took the message and looked at it. "It has been only two days since we wrote to the King," he said. "This is certainly not a response to your letter."

"No, it isn't, not so soon," Ned replied. He knew what it was. "It is a sign of desperation. Stannis is hard pressed. He wants our help but he knows we are in no shape to send any men south. He won't openly ask me for my bannermen to march south again, because if I refuse it means I am disloyal and someday he would have to punish me for such if he still sits on the Iron Throne. So he confirms me in my titles and is hoping my honor and gratitude to him will force me to support him."

Robb shook his head. "Father…we just got home. The ironmen are still not defeated. They may still hold the Motte and parts of the western shore."

"Aye," Ned replied. "No, we cannot spare any men and I will not take our host south of the Neck again until winter passes, if ever. Stannis is on his own, for now. Of food and arms we can spare a little and will send what we can as I promised in my last letter to our new King."

"What worries me most is what is happening at King's Landing," said the maester. "This message is a week or more old at least, my lord. If the Lannisters win and Stannis is forced to retreat to Dragonstone…"

"Aye," said Ned in a grim tone. "Then our war with the Lannisters may not yet be over."


	37. Chapter 37 Stannis

**Ned Stark Lives! Chapter 37 Stannis**

King Stannis Baratheon stood at the foot of the dais in the throne room in the Red Keep at King's Landing, looking up at the Iron Throne. He stepped up towards it and then ran his right hand along the arms, the seat, and the back. The surfaces of the Iron Throne were now smooth, and no barbs or sword points stuck up to injure the throne's occupant anymore. He sat on it, tested it, and then stood, and turned to look at the throne once more. He knew many would say he had done a terrible thing, that to blemish the Iron Throne was ignoble, but Stannis did not see it that way. He was improving something that should have been improved a long time ago.

"Very good work," he said to Master Mott, who was standing directly behind him, the tools of his trade lying on some canvas on the throne room floor. Two young boys, apprentices taken from other smiths and assigned to Mott, stood further back.

"I hope Your Grace is pleased," said Mott, looking up at his king.

"Quite so," Stannis replied. He turned to Mott. "You shall have all I promised." He then turned to his right, where Lord Petyr Baelish, master of coin, was standing and observing the scene. "Lord Baelish will see to the coin for the restoration of your shop."

Mott dipped his head. "Thank you, Your Grace. To repay your generosity I shall make you a new suit of armor, befitting a great king such as yourself."

Stannis snorted. "I have no need of a new suit of armor, Mott. But my men need swords and spear points and arrow heads. It would be best if you put your skills to such work until the siege is over."

"As you command, Your Grace," Mott replied with another dip of his head.

Stannis said nothing else to him as he stepped down from the dais and moved toward the small council room with Baelish at his heels. As they walked they heard a distant 'thud', barely audible inside the keep. Stannis stopped and listened, tensed up, but then seemed to relax a bit as no more thuds came.

"They are conserving their stones," he said to Baelish as they continued walking.

"It would seem so, Your Grace," Baelish replied. "Only seventeen heavy stones hit the walls or landed inside the city yesterday. Today, less than five since breakfast."

"Enough to harass us and our people but not enough to indicate a major push is coming," Stannis said. "Perhaps they are having trouble bringing in sizable stones to fling at us. Or they are conserving them for a major effort."

They were now in the small council room. Ser Davos Seaworth was waiting for them sitting at the table, as was Pycelle. They both stood as Stannis and Baelish entered.

"Sit," Stannis said right away and they did so as Stannis and Baelish joined them. Stannis took one look at Davos. "Begin."

"All is mainly the same, Your Grace," Davos told his king. "The Lannister lines have not changed since yesterday. Their catapults are still firing sporadically, mostly near the Lion Gate. There is much damage to the walls and gate from previous battles and these latest efforts. We continue to shore up the gate and wall with an inner wall of stone and timber. The streets are mostly cleared of rubble now, and all of the dead have been found, and buried or burnt. The latest figures from Lord Baelish suggest about half the population has remained, but it is hard to know how many died or how many fled. The fires killed many and left little but ash and a few bones."

"The fewer people in the city the better, as long as this siege continues," Stannis said. "What of our supply situation?"

Davos continued. "Supplies are still coming in from the sea, unimpeded. One bad spot is the Rosby Road, Your Grace. The Lannister cavalry is trying to swing around to block the re-supply from that direction and we have no cavalry to counter them."

Stannis grunted. He had expected this before long. The almost three week's old siege was at a stalemate, the Lannister attempt to retake the city beaten back with heavy losses. But they could make up their losses, bringing in men and supplies from the west on the Goldroad and floating them by barge down the Blackwater Rush. Stannis in turn could re-supply from the sea and the Rosby Road. Rosby, Duskendale and even Maidenpool had all declared for him, and had sent men to the city and Stannis had Littlefinger send out procurers to buy what food was available for sale. But Stannis had a hungry besieged population to feed as well as his army and the capital city's food supplies for winter would soon have to be tapped into if the siege continued. As Davos had said, many of the people had fled, but many had returned to try to rebuild their lives from the ruins of the city. Stannis put them all to work, clearing streets, making repairs, hauling supplies to his men on the walls and behind the great earth and timber redoubt built by the Dragon Gate. There were no idle hands in King's Landing.

Even the whores had been allowed to keep shop open, much as Stannis disapproved. His men needed entertainment in their off hours, and he knew he would have a minor rebellion on his hands if he forced the whores of King's Landing to close their legs and get off their backs. Littlefinger had profited handsomely from this, the King knew, but he did begrudge him this. Baelish had done wonders to get the economy moving again and to organize the citizens and the incoming supplies. Stannis wondered how much of a profit he was making from the rest of this activity, but as long as things ran smoothly he did not question his master of coin too closely.

But now the city was in danger of being closed off from the northeast if the Rosby Road was closed, and that could disrupt some of their supply efforts. "How many cavalry are on the Rosby Road and who is in command?" Stannis asked his Hand.

"Our scouts estimate about three thousand cavalry under Gregor Clegane. His yellow banner with the three dogs was seen from afar."

"Clegane?" Stannis said with a hint of derision. "He is no strategist. No, I think he was sent there to terrorize the people and to lay waste to Rosby. And there is nothing we can do to stop it. We have no cavalry to speak of. Let us continue. Pycelle, I see you have two raven scrolls. What news and from who?"

"The first is from Ned Stark, Your Grace," Pycelle replied. "He is in Winterfell, but I fear the castle was attacked by ironmen and set afire."

"A warm welcome home for the former Hand of the King," Baelish quipped.

Stannis stared at Baelish but said nothing and then turned to Pycelle. "Does he say how badly was it damaged?"

"No, Your Grace. Only that his army is tired, the fall rains have come to the north, and he can offer little aid. This message has been many days on the fly, Your Grace. It is not a response to the one we sent a few days ago."

"No, it is too soon," Stannis replied and then Pycelle handed him the message and Stannis quickly read it. "So…we can expect little help from the north." He looked at Davos. "How think you of this news, my Hand? Should I command Stark to return with his army?"

"No, Your Grace," Davos said at once. "He will refuse and that would bode ill for further relations between the North and yourself. You have offered him his old titles and lands back, and I am sure he will be grateful when he gets this news. But that still does not change the facts. His army is worn out. It has marched far and has fought several battles. It's supplies are low and it will find none on the road south. The fall rains will make any such journey slow and will whittle his army through sickness and accidents. If he comes by sea the fall storms would make that journey perilous as well. And that is if his bannermen will listen to him and march south again, which I doubt very much. His bannermen are home and will not stir so easily again. Plus, the ironmen still hold parts of the north, and Stark must deal with them first."

Pycelle cleared his throat. "When a king calls for his bannermen, they must answer, no matter the circumstances. Ned Stark would never have refused Robert in such circumstances."

Stannis looked at the Grand Maester. "Would you have me punish Lord Stark? No, wise counselor, that I will not do. Davos has the right of this. Stark would lose more men through hunger, sickness, and troubles on the road, and even desertion, than he could hope to bring through to aid us. I will need his strength and men at some future date for certain, but for now we must do without them. What of the second message?"

"Yes, Your Grace. From Highgarden," Pycelle said and he handed the small raven scroll to Stannis, which Stannis opened and read immediately.

"_King Stannis Baratheon. My father commanded me to write and inform you that he and his forces are on the march. You should expect them in King's Landing before the next turn of the moon. Willas Tyrell_."

Stannis ground his teeth as he re-read it. "Mace Tyrell is too proud to write to me himself so had his lame son do the deed."

"You do hold his other children hostage, so I would expect no warmth from the Reach, Your Grace," Davos reminded him and Stannis gave him a sharp look but said nothing.

"He does not say how many men," Stannis said next. "The moon's turn. When will that be Pycelle?"

"Less than two weeks, Your Grace."

Stannis nodded. "Yes, it is a long march from Highgarden to here. And no doubt they will drag their feet, hoping the Lannisters will defeat us before then. It would not surprise me if Mace Tyrell has already been in touch with Ser Kevan and the Kingslayer, promising his loyalty if they rescue his children."

"The 'children' are quite secure, are they not?" Baelish asked with a look to Ser Davos.

"That they are," the onion knight replied. He looked to Stannis. "Your Grace, we promised to release the daughter when Lord Tyrell took the field."

"We cannot release her yet," Stannis replied. "She would fall into the Lannister hands and that would not do."

"No, Your Grace, indeed not," said Pycelle before Davos could answer the King. "I had a chance to talk with Ser Loras just yesterday when I examined his wound. His anger still simmers and his leg is healing well. Before long he may attempt an escape."

"Not without his sister," Stannis said. "And she is not as bold or as careless with her life as her brother. No, he will not try to escape. She will persuade him of the folly of that. Their father will help us defeat our enemies or they will never see Highgarden again."

"Ser Loras will always be resentful and will seek revenge in the future, Your Grace," Davos said.

"What would you have me do, ser? Kill him now?" Stannis asked in a tone that suggested such an idea was foolish. Then he answered his own question. "No, Ser Loras will bend the knee in the end when we make our peace with Highgarden. His father and sister and the rest will see that he does or he will die. But that is in the future. First, we must win the war."

Davos spoke up again. "As the Tyrell host gets closer, Your Grace, we need send men out to coordinate with them and make plans to attack together to raise the siege."

"For certain," Stannis replied. "But there are still many days march between now and when that will be necessary." He looked to Baelish. "What news of the Lannister intentions?"

"None, Your Grace," Baelish replied. "We have no spies in their camp. The few prisoners we captured knew little of their lords' plans except that the siege will continue until the capital is recaptured."

"And there is no word of Varys?" Davos asked Baelish. A few prisoners captured after the battle at the Lion Gate told them Varys had disappeared from the camp one night and was never found.

"None," Baelish replied. "But my opinion still stands. He has gone to Pentos. I fear he has been fermenting some scheme with his confederates there for some time, even when Robert was king."

"Varys," Stannis said as he ground his teeth again. "Never trust eunuchs. Robert knew that adage well enough, but Cersei wanted Varys here, wanted the gossip he brought her. At first. And by the time she had grown fearful and wary of the eunuch, Robert had found him indispensable."

"He was forever plotting and scheming behind your brother's back, Your Grace," Pycelle stated strongly.

"But what is he plotting and scheming now?" Davos asked. "Who are these allies of his in Pentos?"

"Illyrio Mopatis, for one," Baelish told them. "That name keeps popping up to all of my queries."

"A cheese monger and spice soldier," Stannis said with a dismissive tone. That was a phrase Tywin Lannister had once uttered in Stannis' presence, years ago, at Cersei and Robert's wedding, when some merchants from the east had come to pay homage to the new king and hoped for new trade contacts. Tywin Lannister despised them all and made his feelings clear to one and all. Illyrio Mopatis was one of those at the wedding, a fat sow of a merchant, with inexhaustible wealth which grew more each day, Stannis knew.

"A rich man with many ambitious plans, Your Grace," Baelish countered, unnecessarily. "My whisperers have also heard two names, from the past. Two Targaryen names. Rhaegar's sister and son. Daenerys and Aegon."

Pycelle scoffed. "One is dead and the other is lost in the east and may be dead as well."

"Targaryen pretenders are the least of my problems, especially if they are across the Narrow Sea," Stannis told them. "I have Lannister pretenders at my front door." The King then stood. "That is all for now. Baelish, Pycelle, see to your duties. Davos, come walk with me. We must inspect the lines."

Stannis did not even wait for them to stand or bow to him he simply started walking from the room and Davos hurried to catch up. Soon they were outside and mounted on horse, with twenty of Stannis' own spearmen on horse behind them, representing a large part of what little cavalry Stannis had left. Horses were plentiful in King's Landing, but most were draft animals used for hauling carts or pulling carriages. Few were fit to be called cavalry horses. However, some few score good horses had been in the Red Keep and had survived both battle and fire. Those cavalry men that had survived the battles were now training these few good horses in some new squadrons of cavalry but it would take time and they could not hope to equal the Lannister cavalry, in numbers or quality.

The sky was grey and smelled of rains to come, which was both good and bad. Good, because it meant the Lannisters would get wet. Bad because it meant many people in the city would get wet as well. Tents had sprung up like mushrooms in the ruins, but living in tents was not good for the health of the people. Pycelle and his assistants and the many various healers of the city had so far staved off any more serious outbreaks of illness but it would not take much in the crowded ruins to start a new epidemic.

Stannis led the party as they rode though the ruins. They headed straight for the Lion Gate as usual, and Stannis waited for Davos to protest against this but today the onion knight held his tongue on this matter. The Lion Gate was the most dangerous part of the siege lines and Stannis came here every day to make sure it still held and the men did not waver in the least. Already two captains of the gold cloaks had been hung for shirking their duties, one for drunkenness, the other for abandoning his men when the Lannisters had first attacked the Lion Gate. Such examples were necessary to keep the rest of the men from becoming an unruly mob. Mobs did not win wars, not if they faced disciplined soldiers such as the Lannisters had.

Directly near the Lion Gate a large square had been cleared of rubble and several catapults and larger trebuchets had been set up here to fling counter battery fire at the Lannister siege engines. As they approached two catapults were fired, flinging large square blocks of brick and mortared stone at the enemy. There was no lack of things to fill the catapult buckets with, as much of the city lay in ruins around them. The stench of wildfire still filled the air, almost three weeks after the fires had been put out.

Stannis had at first thought to order the surviving pots of wildfire buried in sand but Davos had changed his mind about that and it was a good thing he had. The wildfire had saved them when the Lannisters had stormed the Dragon Gate redoubt. What little of it that was left was on the walls, in small groups of pots. In the city there were no longer any large caches of it. In addition, Davos had set up fire fighting points all around the city, close to water wells, with many buckets stored nearby. Where there were no wells he brought in large casks of sea water. He used sea water, he told Stannis, so the people would not be tempted to drink it. Davos also set up fire brigands and assigned a man in each city block as fire chief, to be responsible for fire fighting duties, with promises of pay for this duty, but also promises of a rope if they abandoned their posts in time of trouble. So far, no new fires had broken out, but that didn't mean it couldn't happen.

The men dipped their heads and said "Your Grace" as Davos and Stannis got off their horses and climbed the stairs to the top of the gate. The interior wall of stone and dirt and timbers was blocking the gate and stretched for a further hundred feet to both sides of the gate. More men were working to make it stronger and longer. The postern door had also been blocked and the tunnels under the city were blocked or guarded as well.

As they climbed up on the battlements Davos handed Stannis a Myrish spyglass which Stannis placed to his right eye. He now got a good look at the Lannister siege lines, about three hundred feet from the city walls. Well within long range arrow shot, but few arrows flew as both sides conserved them for any coming attacks. The lines spread out and reached the Blackwater Rush to the left and disappeared around the Gate of the Gods to the right. There was just one trench, fronted by sharpened stakes in many places. From the trench spread several fingers of new diggings, trying to get closer to the walls. Some of these fingers were abandoned, but as Stannis watched a party of Lannister men was busy at the tip of one of these fingers, digging away, trying to bring their lines closer to the city. The closer they got, the shorter run they would have to the walls, the less time exposed to arrow fire from above. In front of the diggers they had placed many large baskets filled with earth and stones to protect them from arrow fire.

"Why have we not set that barrier on fire?" Stannis asked a nearby captain, pointing to the place.

"Right away, Your Grace!" the captain replied and then gave orders for fire arrows to be launched at the baskets. In a minute three fire arrows had hit them and they started to burn. Then more arrows landed among the diggers as they retreated down their trench. Stannis could not tell if any had been hit or not but the digging in that sector ended…for now.

In the trenches Stannis could see few men, just a sprinkling of troops. That meant they were not planning any attack soon. The trench line had two purposes. First, it was a jumping off point for any attack, a place where soldiers could gather and stay somewhat protected from arrow fire. Second it served as a barrier to any attacks Stannis might lead against the Lannisters. Behind the trench lines the Lannister's had further strengthened their defenses, having built a large earthen redoubt topped with sharpened stakes. Behind it lay the Lannister camp, which they could see from the heights of the walls. The camp sat there like some festering sore. Red tents and red banners with golden lions on them stuck up everywhere and from the walls they could easily see the men and horses moving about. There were also many siege engines, mainly catapults and trebuchets, but they were not firing now and were pushed back out of range of the city's own siege weapons. The Lannister men that he could see were involved in various tasks, mainly drilling, practicing at arms, and taking care of personal needs.

What they were not doing is what bothered Stannis. He could see no evidence of tall ladders or high siege towers, nothing designed to attack his walls. Either they weren't planning to attack the walls or they were somehow deceiving Stannis.

"Still no siege towers or ladders," Stannis said to Davos as he handed him the spyglass. Davos took it and swept along the lines and then took it from his eye.

"Nothing," he said. "They are not planning anything it seems."

"Or they are planning to attack from somewhere else," Stannis replied. "The tunnels are secure? There is no sign of mining?"

"None, Your Grace, but I will check again."

"See to it."

Davos handed him the spyglass again and then left him. Stannis was glad to have the smuggler by his side, a man who was not afraid to speak his mind and knew how to present hard truths to his king. A king needed such a man, Stannis knew, which is why he offered the post of Hand of the King to Davos and not his wife's uncle or any other family member. When they had heard this news on Dragonstone they had been aghast, he knew. He received a sharp letter from his wife, wondering why he had not picked any of her kin, as was expected. He did not bother to reply, hoping his silence was enough to let her know she was meddling where she did not belong.

As for her kin, many were either in the city or on ships in the bay, doing their duty for their new king. He avoided them where possible, but had to deal with some of them. Stannis tolerated them but none were asked to sit on his council. Another snub, to be sure, but he had three men to advise him and that was enough. Any more would produce useless chatter and cause many petty rivalries as he had seen well enough on Robert's small council. Varys, Baelish and Pycelle were always sniping at each other like a bunch of old women and some days it got so bad Stannis had just wanted to drive a dagger into all their hearts. Robert had never been there of course, and Jon Arryn had done little to stop the nonsense that took up more time than the real business of the realm. But that was all in the past. It was his small council now, his realm to rule. If he could defeat the Lannisters.

Stannis observed the lines again with the spyglass and as he watched a man on horseback mounted the earth redoubt. He was wearing white armor and Stannis knew at once it was Ser Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer. He sat on his horse without his helmet on, his golden hair and fine features easy to see. He grinned and waved to the city and then turned around and seemed to shout something.

At that moment a large dark object flew out of the camp and came hurtling towards the city. Stannis could see it arch high and then come down, and now knew it was not a stone, but an animal of some sort, and as it got closer he knew it was a horse. A dead horse.

It landed with a 'splat' behind the walls in the square where the catapults were. The horse had been dead awhile and its innards burst on impact with the stones of the square and blood and viscera flew in all directions. At once Stannis knew what they were up to.

"BURN IT!" he shouted to the men who stood nearby, some of them covered with blood and rotting guts. Two men were immediately sickened and began to heave up their breakfast. Stannis hurried down to the street level and quickly ordered oil brought. A barrel was fetched and the remains of the dead horse covered in it and set on fire. Stannis ordered the men to wash the street and those who had been hit with blood and guts were ordered to strip their clothing and it was burned as well. Then he told the same men to head to the baths and have a good hot soaking.

At that point Davos appeared again, looking at the burning remains of the horse. "New tactics?" he asked, wrinkling his nose at the stench of burning rotting horse flesh.

"A dead horse," Stannis told him. "Foul, and crawling with illness no doubt."

Davos nodded. "Fire is the only thing for it."

Stannis looked at the catapults and trebuchets standing nearby. "Give them some fire in return. Real fire. Wildfire. On their camp. The trebuchets can reach it?"

"Aye," Davos replied. "Maybe a light load of a few pots will make them think twice of sending anymore dead animals our way."

"See to it," Stannis commanded. It was soon done. Stannis observed from the city walls as four pots of wild fire were flung high in the air and landed. One hit the Lannister trench, one hit the top of the redoubt, and two landed in the Lannister camp. They had hit some source of flame or heat because soon they saw the smoke of a fire. But it did not last long and Stannis could see only one tent burning, which was quickly consumed and then the fires died.

The Kingslayer soon returned to the redoubt top on his horse. He gave a little mock bow and then turned around and went back to his camp. No more dead horses or anything else came over the walls the rest of the day, and Stannis sent no more wildfire. Stalemate once more.

Davos reported that the tunnels were secure and there were no signs of mining. The rest of the day Stannis and Davos spent inspecting the lines, moving about the city, making sure the people saw them and knew who was in command here. They stopped long enough for a short lunch break and then continued, this time near the Mud Gate.

The Lannisters were across the Blackwater Rush opposite the Mud Gate and covered the nearby docks with arrow and catapult fire so all supplies had to be landed by small boat near the Iron Gate. It was slow and cumbersome and took many men to man handle the supplies ashore and into the city.

This problem vexed both Stannis and Ser Davos but they had no solution. They could easily land a force with the many ships they had, but the lack of cavalry was a problem once again. Their forces were stretched thin as it was and they had no men to spare to extend their lines to the south bank of the Blackwater Rush where the Lannisters could easily outnumber them quickly.

"If only Storm's End had fallen first before we had to attack the Tyrells and then King's Landing," Stannis said as they observed the Lannister lines across the river from atop the Mud Gate. "Then the garrison there could come up behind these Lannisters and force them out."

"There is still no word from Ser Cortnay Penrose, Your Grace," Davos said. "But he may bend the knee yet. If you agree to his terms."

"Terms?" Stannis growled. "He is castellan of Storm's End, a servant to my family. Those men he commands are my men. Who is he to ask for terms from his liege lord and king?"

"Forgive me, Your Grace, but I need speak plainly here."

"I expect nothing less, Ser Davos. Say what you will."

"Ser Cortnay served your brother for many years and no doubt loved him. And you had your brother assassinated, Your Grace, so he may harbor ill feelings there," Davos began.

"Renly should have bent the knee as well," Stannis replied in a gruff tone. Speaking of Renly bothered Stannis but he controlled his rising anger.

"Aye, Your Grace, he should have, but what is done is done. This other problem is what may keep Ser Cortnay from supporting you. He guards King Robert's bastard son, has raised him and no doubts loves the boy. Yet you demanded he hand Edric Storm over to you when we stood before the walls of Storm's End."

"I mean no harm to the boy. He is of my own blood, whether he be a bastard or not." A boy bred in his own wedding bed, on his wedding night, Stannis knew, by his own brother and some whorish daughter of a nobleman. Robert had to acknowledge this one, had to because the mother was of a high birth. And now the red woman wanted Edric Storm for her own purposes. She wanted his blood, and promised Stannis he could defeat his rivals if he gave her this boy with royal blood in his veins.

"Ser Cortnay believes otherwise," Ser Davos replied to Stannis' last comment.

"Yes," Stannis said. "And he is a stubborn old man. He should be begging me for his forgiveness, yet he still resists. With Renly dead, and with no heir, Storm's End passes to me. Ser Cortnay knows this by all the laws of the kingdoms."

"I am sure he does, Your Grace. And if we let the boy be, perhaps Ser Cortnay will bend the knee and send his garrison to our aid."

Stannis snorted and then decided. "Get Pycelle to write the message and send it on the morrow. Tell Ser Cortnay the boy will remain in Storm's End and no harm will ever come to him by my hand if Ser Cortnay bends the knee and sends the garrison to the Kingswood to harass the Lannisters."

"I will do it at once, Your Grace. By your leave." Stannis nodded and then Davos was gone. The King and his escort returned to the Red Keep. Later, Stannis met Baelish to go over some matters of supply and finance and then he dined alone. After it grew dark, he went to the main courtyard of the Red Keep for the nightly rituals.

Melisandre was there as were many of his officers and men who had taken the Lord of Light for their god. Some of them were from the city, and had recently accepted the new god. Stannis knew not if they believed or if they were only seeking his favor. If they thought by changing their religion they would win points with him they were sadly mistaken and did not know him well. Stannis only rewarded those who served him first in some manner, and did not give favors or offices to any who thought they deserved it because of high birth or past achievements. Already several office seekers had been turned away, with warnings not to return until they had done some duty for their new king.

The center of the courtyard was blackened with the nightly fires. From a gibbet hung an iron cage, which was blackened as well, and also contained the ash from the bodies she was burning in it. Stannis had ground his teeth when she had asked for prisoners to sacrifice and then curtly told her to do as she wished. The first time a Lannister man had been dragged to the cage he didn't understand what was happening. No one in Westeros burned prisoners alive, at least not since the Mad King was killed. As soon as he understood he began to scream and beseech them, saying he would bend the knee and that his family would ransom him handsomely. But Stannis said nothing and watched as the man roasted and Melisandre chanted and many of the followers did as well. His death took a long twenty minutes and the burning man's screams were no doubt heard over much of the city.

By the next night the Lannister prisoners held in the cells below the Red Keep seemed to know what was awaiting them above and when the gaolers opened the doors the prisoners rushed them in a mass. They killed two gaolers with their bare hands and rushed the other guards and for a good hour fighting had raged below the Red Keep. But eventually all prisoners were either killed or subdued. Stannis had lost twelve men in the rampage. After that, all surviving prisoners were bound hand and foot and left to starve and sit in their own urine and feces. At first, they were given some water in buckets so they would still be alive for their sacrifices at least. One man drown himself in a bucket and another tried to beat his brains in on a wall, so after that the prisoners were watched all day so no more killed themselves.

Each night the fires burned and one prisoner was sacrificed. One by one they were dragged to the cage to die in agony and now only one remained. The last one was dragged into the courtyard. He was thin and reeked badly. He had fair hair and brown eyes, and seemed in his mid-thirties but it was hard to tell under his growth of beard and shaggy hair. He was strangely quiet, unlike the others who had begged and cried for their lives.

"Stop," Stannis said and the men dragging the prisoner stopped. Stannis looked at him. "Who are you?"

The prisoner looked at him with bleary eyes. He has not slept much Stannis knew. I wouldn't either if I knew what horrible fate awaited me.

"Ser Royce…Hill," he said, saying his last name reluctantly.

One of Stannis' officers growled. "This is your king! Address him as Your Grace!"

Ser Royce snorted. "He is not my king."

The officer went to hit him but Stannis held up a hand and the officer stopped. Stannis stared at Ser Royce.

"A bastard knight of the Westlands," said Stannis to him. "Ser Royce, who made you a knight?"

"Ser Jaime Lannister, the day before I was taken prisoner. He made over one hundred of us knights that day."

Stannis grunted. Any knight could make another knight, and Ser Jaime had done it to give pride to the men and make them fight harder. But it had not helped this one. "Why do you fight for the Lannisters and their false king?" Stannis asked.

"They are my liege lords. As for who is king, I do not care."

"Do you want to live?" Stannis asked.

"Yes. But I know I will die as the others did."

"Yet you do not seem afraid or ask for mercy."

"I have made my peace with the Seven," Ser Royce said calmly. "I will go to my death knowing that the Mother will comfort me and the Father will accept me into heaven and carry away all my burdens."

"Blasphemy!" shouted an officer and others joined him in shouting at the man. "There is only one god!" shouted another.

Melisandre, strangely quiet until now, approached Ser Royce. "If you accept the Lord of Light as your savoir I will spare you."

For a moment Stannis thought the man would agree but then Ser Royce shook his head. "That would only be words," he said. "I will not believe it. Do as you will with me, but I will not forsake my gods, not even in the face of death."

"As you wish," Stannis said, and for some strange reason he admired the man's courage. But he could not make an exception for him and he nodded towards the cage. Ser Royce was put in it and the cage was locked shut and then swung on its iron gibbet over a pile of wood and coal on the ground. Then Melisandre did something unexpected. A soldier with the fiery heart on his surcoat gingerly carried a pot of wildfire to her and she took it.

Stannis sucked in his breath and fought to control his temper. "What is that doing here?"

"It's fire is strong," she replied, her eyes aglow in the torch light. "It has given you your victory, Your Grace. Fire gives us light and light pushes back the darkness. There is no stronger source of fire in this city than wildfire. By using it we honor R'hllor."

Stannis was about to protest but then held back his words. It was just one pot, and the courtyard was all stone with nothing there to burn expect what was under the cage. Still, as she poured the wildfire on the wood and coal, he saw more than a few of her loyal followers step back some more from the iron cage. Inside it, Ser Royce had his eyes closed and his lips were moving fast, no doubt silently praying for a quick death. Perhaps with this wildfire he would get his wish.

Melisandre stepped back from the pile of wood and coal now soaked with the green wildfire liquid. She raised her arms and began her chanting and then in a sudden movement flung her arms at the pile of fuel. Sparks shot from her hands, hit the pile of wildfire soaked wood and coal, and it instantly burst into a roaring inferno.

As the green fire leaped up to the cage, the heat of it made them all flinch and stepped back some more. Except for Melisandre, that is, who seemed to almost grow in size as she screamed out her prayers to her lord. The men joined her in the ritual words as did Stannis.

Inside the cage Ser Royce let out a long scream of agony. In seconds his clothing was on fire and his hair and his skin was being destroyed. It was all over in less than a minute. Unlike the others who took a long time to roast and die, Ser Royce's death was quick. Perhaps his gods were listening to him after all, Stannis thought.

When it was over and all that remained was ash, and they had chased away the darkness once again, Stannis and Melisandre returned to his quarters. He poured some wine for her while he drank lemon water as they sat at a table.

"That man did not give up his gods so easily, not even when faced with an agonizing death," Stannis told her. "The rest of the people of the Seven Kingdoms will not either."

"In time they will," she replied. "They will come to love the Lord of Light as they love their precious seven. When the great battle comes, they will be glad the Lord of Light and his champion King Stannis Baratheon are at their side."

She had spoken of this often yet he still only had a vague idea what battle she was referring to and had no idea when it would happen. She had said little of the details of it and spoke mainly in vague terms. But one thing he did know was that the people of Westeros would not bend to this new god so easily, even when faced with a great enemy. Ser Royce proved that.

"They will resist, no matter what we do," Stannis told her.

"Then perhaps we should make more wildfire for these reluctant ones."

"Wildfire is no toy," he said at once.

"I did not play with it," the red woman replied.

"It is a tool, to be used to defeat our enemies, not for rituals."

"It is a tool, yes, Your Grace, but it is also fire, and R'hllor needs fire. Fire will defeat his enemy, the other we do not speak of. When the time of the great battle comes, only fire will defeat the enemy."

"When?" he asked in frustration. "When will this great battle happen?"

"In time, my King. We must be ready. Westeros must be ready. And we will need fire to destroy our enemy."

"There is no stronger fire than wildfire," Stannis told her, still frustrated at her lack of more detailed answers.

"No, Your Grace, there is one other source…dragon breath."

Stannis grunted. "All of the dragons are dead, more than one hundred years ago."

She looked at him in slight surprise. "Your Grace, it seems your intelligence services have failed you."

"Speak plainly, woman. You know I have no stomach for riddles," he snapped, his frustrations boiling over. Stannis could never stand anyone who tried to be clever with words. Tyrion Lannister had been the worse, Varys as well, and he never enjoyed either man's company when both had lived in the capital in the past.

Melisandre did not take offense at his tone but spoke as he wished. "I have had word from the east, from my brethren. Daenerys Targaryen lives. And she has three dragons."

"Impossible," Stannis said at once. "She died in the Dothraki Sea. Did she not?"

"No…she and some of her loyal followers and a Westerosi knight are now in Qarth. Or at least they were many weeks past. And she has the dragons. There is no doubt of that. People I know, people I trust, have seen them and her. So have many sailors. Word is spreading. Other words say she is gathering an army, to come here, to take back what her father lost to your brother."

Stannis ground his teeth. "Robert should have killed her ages ago."

"Did he not try?"

"He did, but failed. Varys no doubt had a hand in warning her of any plots in the past."

"Varys has a role to play in all of this yet. But I do not see him clearly in my fires."

"Baelish thinks he is in Pentos."

"Pentos," she replied. "But he will not stay there long. He will seek out this Targaryen."

"So what if he does?" Stannis replied. "They are thousands of leagues away on the other side of the world."

"As was I once. Yet here I sit."

Stannis knew what that meant. "It will be many months, maybe years before she can come here. And with what army?"

"With three dragons she needs no army."

"If I remember my history, dragons are not born fully grown. It will take time for them to become dangerous."

"And then they will fly over your city and reduce it to ash again."

He glared at her. Was she trying to frighten him or did she truly believe this would happen? "What have you seen?"

"Nothing. Yet," she said and then drank the rest of her wine. "But that is the future, my King. We have enemies before us now. I wish to help you in this battle."

Stannis had resisted her offers so far. She could send fire at them, he knew, but the Lannisters were wary of this trick and once they saw the grey mist approaching they would abandon their camp. And to do so drained her greatly. After the attack on the Tyrell camp she was not herself for many days after. "There is naught you can do for now. They will not parley. And if your powers kill Ser Kevan, the Kingslayer will take his place and others are equally capable. I wish you to conserve your strength in case of another assault. Then you can burn as many as you wish."

"As R'hllor demands," she said. She stood and her red robes shimmered around her voluptuous body and Stannis could not help but stare. He was not made of stone as he knew men whispered behind his back. He desired women as did most men, but he controlled his urges. Unlike his older brother, who had every woman who would have him.

Melisandre saw his look. "My King, if you wish, we may…"

"No," he said at once. "Those other times it was necessary…to defeat my enemies." His younger brother…his enemy. Tywin Lannister…his enemy.

She stepped toward him and he could feel the heat from her and it only increased his desire. She ran the back of her hand on his cheek and he almost flinched from her touch but did not. "Come, my King" she said in a seductive tone. "Come and let me take away your burdens for one night."

She removed her robes and she was naked underneath and then stern King Stannis Baratheon, First of his Name, could not control his urges anymore and soon he was lost to the world as he let the red woman ease his burdens for one night.

In the morning she was gone and Stannis lay in his bed for a while. He tried to fight it but feelings of guilt came none the less. Stannis Baratheon rarely regretted anything. But he had taken a vow to a woman he loved and now three times he had broken that vow. It might be time to send for his wife and daughter before he let this become a habit. The red woman's touch would drive any man mad with desire, and Stannis could not fall under her spell any more than he already had. He was still king, and to be king he needed to be in control.

He arose when a guard knocked to say breakfast was ready. Stannis quickly dressed and let the servant in with his meal. It was only then he noticed the rain.

"It is raining?" he asked the servant, a young girl with brown hair and nice blue eyes.

"Yes…yes, Your Grace," she said. "It has rained all night."

The girl placed the tray on his table and then left. Stannis stepped to his balcony and saw great sheets of rain falling from the skies. He could not see the next tower let alone any of the city or the Lannister siege lines. This was not good.

Stannis quickly ate some bread and cheese and gulped some water and then called for his squire and dressed in his armor and strapped on his dagger and sword. As he was leaving, Davos was approaching his quarters.

"We can't see a thing from the walls, Your Grace," he said at once.

"What reports from the night?" Stannis asked as they walked down the stairs.

"Nothing unusual," Davos replied. "The rains began late, and continued all night. We have some flooding in the streets but nothing major. But when day came and the rain continued reports came to me that the men could not see much of anything beyond a few yards from the walls."

"The Lannisters could use this as cover to get right under our walls."

"As I was thinking, Your Grace. The walls are fully manned and all defenses are on full alert."

"Good. Let us go to the Lion Gate."

They got very wet as did the escort, and soon they were standing in the driving rain on top of the Lion Gate. They could see maybe twenty yards in front of their hands but no further. There was no sign of the Lannisters anywhere. All morning the army manned the walls, with groups taking turns to go under cover for thirty minutes at a time to get a bit dry and have some food and drink. After three hours of this Stannis' patience worn thin.

"Send out patrols," he told Davos. "By the Gate of the Gods and the King's Gate."

Davos issued the orders and then returned to Stannis' side. Twenty minutes later they heard from the mist the clop of horse hoofs galloping hard , coming nearer. Soon a rider appeared at the bottom of the wall by the Lion Gate. Stannis shouted down to him.

"What of the Lannisters?"

"Gone, Your Grace!" the soldier shouted back. "Their whole army is gone!"

By noon the rains had let up and the mist rose and they could plainly see that the siege lines were empty, as was the Lannister camp. Stannis and Davos rode out the Gate of the Gods with a strong escort. Soon they crossed the muddy fields and then the trench lines on planks and entered the remains of the Lannister camp. All that was left were latrine pits and midden heaps. Not a tent or banner or arrow shaft remained. Even the siege engines were gone. But they had left behind a several piles of large stones, perhaps too heavy to carry off in a hurry.

"Could this be a trap of some kind, ser?" Stannis asked.

"I know not, Your Grace," Davos replied. "My experience with war on land is somewhat limited."

Stannis knew this was true. He shouted orders to send out further patrols to find out where the Lannisters were. Just then a rider came up to them from the north.

"Your Grace, we have had news of a battle at Rosby," the man said after he pulled up.

"Tell me it all," Stannis commanded.

"The Mountain's men attacked the town two days past, Your Grace. They sacked it, but many of the people took refuge in the castle, so there were few losses. Much of the town was burned and many supplies carried away."

"They did not attack the castle?" Davos asked.

"No, my Lord Hand," the man answered. "They only stayed a few hours and then rode west."

West, Stannis thought. West was Casterly Rock and Lannisport. Were they all heading west? And why?

The scouts and patrols came back and there was no sign of the Lannisters. The Blackwater was empty of barges, the men across the river were gone as well, and the tracks and roads west were muddy but showed few signs of passage. The rains had taken care of that.

Stannis immediately ordered the Lannister siege lines destroyed and men worked at it all day and the next, filling in the trench with dirt from the redoubt. The docks were opened up and ships pulled right up the Blackwater to them to land supplies. He sent a strong force to Rosby to see what aid they could give. Then on the fourth day since the Lannisters left, riders approached the city carrying banners from the Reach. Their leader was taken immediately to the small council chamber where Stannis and the others were meeting.

"Highgarden has come to save us at last," Baelish quipped when the man was led into the room. "Too bad you are late and the battle is over."

The man ignored Baelish as he looked at Stannis. He was tall and had sandy hair and a thick beard. His surcoat bore the sigil of house Rowan, a golden tree.

The man dipped his head. "Your Grace, I am Ser William Rowan, nephew to Lord Mathis Rowan of Goldengrove."

Stannis barely remembered him from some tournament or another years ago, where Robert had unseated him in the first tilt. "Welcome, Ser William. What news from Highgarden?"

"Our host is perhaps a week's march from here, Your Grace. But Lord Tyrell bid me ride fast here. One of our patrols captured some Lannister men south of the Goldroad. Other patrols saw barges filled with Lannister soldiers rowing upstream on the Blackwater."

"Heading west?" Davos asked.

"Yes…my lord," Ser William answered, looking a bit puzzled at the speaker.

"This is Ser Davos Seaworth, Hand of the King," Pycelle told him.

"My Lord Hand," Ser William said to Davos with a dip of his head. "Yes, they are heading west."

"Why? What did the prisoners say?" Stannis asked quickly.

"They say that Lannisport is under attack. They were going to save their people."

Stannis felt his heart pounding now. This was too good to be true. He stood and stared at the messenger. "Under attack? By who?"

"Victarion Greyjoy, they say, Your Grace. He led the Iron Fleet right into Lannisport."


	38. Chapter 38 Jaime

**Ned Stark Lives! Chapter 38 Jamie**

The Lannister army left King's Landing in the middle of the night in a rain storm. It was a hasty move, done while they had the chance of cover from the falling rain, but nonetheless it was done with the professionalism that Tywin Lannister had instilled in his men over the years. All they left behind was their garbage and some heavy stones that could not be easily or quickly moved. Hundreds of men packed barges and rowed upstream on the Blackwater to the bridge over the river where it met the Goldroad. The rest of them marched or rode hard on the Goldroad and by daybreak had gone a good ten miles to the west. Ser Kevan ordered a halt for rest and food for two hours and then they marched again. The rains stopped by afternoon and by evening, when all were thoroughly wet and exhausted as they made camp, they had put more than twenty miles between themselves and King's Landing.

Ser Jaime Lannister thought it was folly to abandon the siege, but his uncle Ser Kevan and the other commanders had disagreed with him. The messenger with the dire news from the west had come floating by barge down the Blackwater in the late afternoon, having been on the road and river from the west from Silverhall for six days. Jaime was thinking about supper and was just having his armor removed by his squire when a soldier came to his tent and said he was urgently needed in the commander's pavilion.

"The Iron Fleet has attacked Lannisport!" Ser Kevan told him as soon as Jaime entered the pavilion. All of the other commanders except Gregor Clegane were present. They had sent Ser Gregor and three thousand cavalry on a raid to the northeast to disrupt supplies from Rosby and Duskendale and Maidenpool. When he was done raiding and destroying he was to fall back on Harrenhal and await further orders.

Ser Kevan handed Jaime a small raven scroll which he quickly read.

"_Dear Uncles. Lannisport is under attack by the Iron Fleet, led by Victarion Greyjoy I believe. I command that you bring your army back to the west at once to throw these invaders out of our lands and defend your king and homelands. King Tommen Baratheon, First of his Name…_"

Jaime looked to his uncle and held up the message. "How did this come to be here? No ravens can find this army."

"I brought it, my lord," said a tired looking man in chain mail with the sigil of Silverhall on his surcoat. "It was inside another message asking our people to send aid to Lannisport and to pass this message to your army, my lords. I left six days ago."

"Six days," Jaime said with shake of his head. The message had been sent by raven to Silverhall because it was the largest settlement furthest east of those loyal to House Lannister, closest to where the army was now located. "That means the attack happened at least a week ago." He looked with worry to his uncle. "What forces did we leave in the west?"

"Not much I am afraid," Ser Kevan replied, also worried. "The fleet is there, of course, but there is no mention of it." He glanced at the message again and then at the messenger.

"I have no news of the fleet, my lords," he told them. The Lannister fleet was large and had many powerful ships, but if they had been caught unawares in harbor, like they had been ten years ago during the Greyjoy Rebellion, then in all likelihood they had been destroyed once again.

"What of soldiers?" Jaime asked next.

"The city watch of Lannisport, of course," his uncle replied. "And the garrison of Casterly Rock. Plus whatever men the towns and villages can raise and arm."

The messenger spoke up. "Beg pardon, my lords, but that is not many men. From Silverhall we could only send a few hundred men under arms to Lannisport. And it is a good three or four days march to the port."

Ser Addam Marbrand spoke next. "Most of the men of the west are here with us, or at Harrenhal, or with Ser Gregor. We must send some force, at once."

Others voiced their agreement, but Jaime spoke up and they quieted down. "These ironmen are raiders, not invaders. They will burn and plunder and rape and they will be gone by the time this army marches west. It is ten days or more to Lannisport. They may be gone already."

"They invaded the north," Ser Kevan reminded his nephew "They took Moat Cailin, did they not? Who knows what other parts of the north they now occupy. No, I think Balon Greyjoy has let his new crown go to his head. He is using our distractions to attack our lands. His brother and his men may very well occupy Lannisport as we speak. We must send aid. The King and Queen Regent are all alone there."

"In Casterly Rock!" Jaime almost shouted. "Have you forgotten, Uncle? The Rock can withstand anything. It has never fallen. No, we must stay here. The war will be won here or not at all. We are almost ready for the attack. The siege engines are ready, the stone supplies grow bigger, and the men are ready. If we delay now, we may never get this chance again."

Ser Kevan took a deep breath and stared at Jaime. "And if we fail again? If they rain wildfire on us once more? The men cannot stand that again. I fear they will break."

"They will not break!" Jaime said with vigor. He looked at the other commanders and he saw doubt in many eyes and Jaime suddenly realized that they did not think they could win.

The last battle was the reason. They had delayed the attack for a few days after Varys had left. The eunuch's disappearance had shaken his uncle and the others. They feared he had gone over to Stannis with all of their secrets. Jaime reminded them that Varys had no knowledge of their plan of attack, but Kevan and the others were not so sure, fearing the Spider's vast network of little birds. It took Jaime two whole days to convince them Varys had run off to the northeast. They had searched for him and all they found was an old cloak and a helmet in the woods north of the camp. Jaime reasoned that Varys had disguised himself as a soldier and slipped out to the northeast. And why would he go to Stannis, who had always despised him and no doubt would cut his head off at the first chance. No, Jaime had said, Varys is fleeing because he thinks he is no longer safe with either army. His uncle reluctantly agreed to the attack. And then it had all gone to shit.

While the infantry attacked the enemy's Dragon Gate redoubt, Jaime had led a strong party into the tunnels, found an unguarded way, and had surprised the guard at the Lion Gate. They had slaughtered many and had the gate opened to let the rest of the army in. But Stannis had been ready for this and had stationed a strong force of archers and crossbow men in the ruins near each gate. They had rained arrows and bolts on his men and the arriving reinforcements. Then came pots of wildfire, and his men had panicked and many had fled. After that a strong force of enemy infantry advanced towards them from three sides, advancing through narrow alleys and over the rubble of burnt out buildings. Jaime could not get enough men forward and into the fight in the narrow, rubble-strewn streets. He saw Stannis for a few brief moments, on horseback, encouraging his men, and Jaime cursed his luck to have entered the city on foot instead of on horse. There was no way he could reach Stannis in the milling, fighting, dieing crowd of soldiers. Eventually they were pushed back and out the gate, and Jaime had led the exhausted remnants back to their camp. Stannis did not pursue them, his force no doubt exhausted as well.

While this was happening disaster struck at the Dragon Gate redoubt. The Lannister men took heavy losses but took the redoubt and killed hundreds of Stannis' men. As they charged down toward the Iron Gate and the supply landing points, wildfire ignited by fire arrows fell from the walls on them and was flung from catapults near the Iron Gate and from ships grounded on the beach there. In moments victory had turned into panicked retreat. Jaime estimated they had lost over two thousand dead and they had just as many wounded, plus about a hundred men missing and no doubt now prisoners.

Three days later the Lannister men south of the Blackwater captured a merchant of the Reach who had slipped out of King's Landing and was trying to make his way home. Under interrogation he told them that the whole city could hear screams coming from the Red Keep each night just after sunset. The rumor was that Stannis' red woman was burning prisoners alive, a sacrifice to her god. Jaime made sure his whole army heard this news, whether true or not. He was certain no man would let himself be taken prisoner now and all would fight to the death.

For a week they had licked their wounds as more men and supplies came in from the west. Then they began to plan another attack, this time in one place only, at the walls near the Lion Gate. They started to build more siege engines and build up a reserve of stones for the great effort. But now it seemed his uncle and the others were about to abandon it all to head west.

Ser Kevan spoke, slowly and deliberately. "Our infantry suffered grievously in the last attack. They will be required to make the major push again. Cavalry have no place in street fighting. And we still have no defense against this wildfire. If the men break and run again, it will all be over. We cannot hope to mount a third attack. The men will not stand for it, and I will not send them to be slaughtered again. And we cannot hope to starve the city as long as they control the sea. My commanders, I fear we cannot win unless Stannis meets us in open battle. And he will not do that, not without cavalry, not while he has high walls and plenty of food to sustain him."

Jaime felt himself deflating, as if all his energy was gone, as his uncle spoke. Kevan looked at him for a brief moment, but Jaime said nothing, so Kevan continued speaking.

"And now we have an even bigger problem. The Tyrells have taken the field against us, with the Tarlys and many others in support. They are more than a week's march from here, but they will come eventually. Already we have seen cavalry patrols flying banners of the Reach south of the Blackwater. They may have been forced to join against us, as Stannis holds Mace Tyrell's children hostage. But they are still coming. If this next attack fails, we will be further weakened and have two armies to face, not just one. Now, my lords, say what you will."

Ser Addam spoke first and said what many were thinking. "My family is in Ashemark, but many men of the army have kin in Lannisport and nearby towns and villages."

Others then spoke up as well, worried for their families, and someone said the men of the army would soon know and would also want to march west. And then they spoke on the Tyrell host. Someone suggested they move swiftly to defeat the Tyrells in open battle. They argued over this for a while, and for a few moments Jaime thought they would do this, which would have been the prudent move. But his uncle feared getting caught in long drawn out maneuvering or a protracted battle that would delay their return to the west. The Tyrells could avoid battle, or build a strong camp and again the Lannisters would lose heavily while attacking. Days and weeks might be lost in such an effort, Ser Kevan said, and Jaime knew he was right.

That seemed to decide it for the rest of them. Ser Kevan gave the orders. They would break camp and march west during the night. They would put as many miles as they could between them and King's Landing before daybreak, but did not need worry about much of a pursuit. They knew Stannis had little cavalry left.

After the other commanders left the pavilion to prepare the men, Jaime looked at his uncle and spoke his mind. "My father would never have abandoned this siege until Stannis' head was on a spike on the highest wall of King's Landing."

Ser Kevan bristled at the comment and seemed ready to argue but then all of a sudden he seemed to deflate and grow smaller. "He was always made of sterner stuff than the rest of the family. Jaime, you must see the wisdom of this. We cannot win."

"No, we cannot, Uncle, as long as you think we cannot."

Ser Kevan shook his head. "No, ser, I just looked at the facts and reached the proper conclusion."

"Then we should have left two weeks ago after the last attack failed."

"I…I thought we could make it work, that somehow it was still possible. But now…"

"Now we have a good excuse to break the siege," Jaime said with bitterness.

After this comment his uncle grew angry. "The King ordered us west!"

"The King is a boy! Cersei ordered us west, you mean."

"Yes, no doubt she did," Ser Kevan replied, calming down a bit. "That still does not change the fact that our homelands are under attack. We must return home."

"And what of Tyrion and his men at Harrenhal? What of the Mountain and his men?"

"We will send word to them of our movements."

"And order them west as well?" Jaime asked, wondering if his uncle was planning to abandon everything they had accomplished so far.

"No, we still need a base nearby here. Once we deal with these ironmen the war with Stannis will continue."

"Stannis and the Tyrells will lay siege to Harrenhal before long," Jaime said through gritted teeth. "Tyrion will have less than six thousand men, if the Mountain makes it to him. And the princess is there as well."

"Tyrion must send her west as soon as possible," Ser Kevan said. "As for Harrenhal, it must withstand a siege. With six thousand men, they can keep out any invaders."

"If they have enough food," Jaime replied. "We have heard nothing from Tyrion in over two weeks. We know nothing of his situation."

"Your father did not only name Tyrion Hand of the King because he was his son, Jaime. Tyrion will see that Harrenhal does not fall, you can count on it. Now see to your men. Make sure they are fed and their horses are ready. We march in a few hours."

Jaime stared at him for a long few seconds and then dipped his head. "As you command, Uncle." And then he left the tent and went to eat and prepare his men for the journey west.

The rains came and it was as if the gods had decided to help them in their plans. As Jaime rode west, he felt a deep anger and bitterness over abandoning the siege. He ached to kill Stannis Baratheon, to kill him for claiming the Iron Throne, to kill him for spreading the stories about his forbidden love with Cersei, to kill him because Jaime had never really liked the man. In the years they had lived together in King's Landing under Robert's rule Stannis had always condescended to Jaime. He knew Stannis looked down on him because Stannis was a member of the King's counsel, while Jaime was just a glorified bodyguard.

And then there was his nickname, the Kingslayer, and all it meant. Stannis just did not trust Jaime. Cersei had once told him that Stannis asked Robert to remove him from the Kingsguard and send him to the Wall. Robert had confessed this in a drunken stupor, laughing the whole time, wondering if Jaime would look better in black or white. Nothing came of it, but after that Jaime was wary of stern Stannis, and dreamt of shoving a blade in his neck and cutting off his bald head. He had the chance, at the bridge during the parley, but his father had stayed his hand, and then Lord Tywin was soon dead. After the battle by the Lion Gate, no more chances had presented themselves. He had seen Stannis on the walls by the Lion Gate, almost every day, but they had never clashed in battle.

Day came and they stopped for a while and then pushed on again, finally halting near nightfall. They made camp and Jaime saw to his men's needs. More than one asked him if it was true the ironmen attacked Lannisport and he told them as much as he knew and saw that they were worried. Some even said they should never have left without finishing off Stannis, but Jaime kept his opinions to himself, not wanting to let the men know there was any division in the high command. His father had once told him that commanders may disagree in the privacy of war councils but they should never do so in front of their men. That would cause mistrust of commanders and suspicion of their intentions, two things that could damage the morale of an army.

Three days it took them to reach the bridge over the Blackwater Rush where it met the Goldroad and here they found the men who had come up by barge already in place with a strong camp made. Supplies were plentiful, and the weather was sunny and cool. They dragged the barges out of the river and placed them along the shore, in hopes that one day they would still be there when they returned, but Jaime had little hope of that. They were too cumbersome to drag back to the west with them, and no doubt some locals or Stannis' men would eventually find them and take them or destroy them.

The next day they started early again and it was more of the same, riding and marching through farmland and passing small towns and villages, most of them loyal to the Reach. They took some food and livestock off the people, so the Tyrells or Stannis could not get them, but did not kill any unless they resisted. Ser Kevan said these people had no love for Stannis, but their lords were forced to join him and they would not be punished unless necessary.

On the eighth day of the march they reached the borderlands of the Westlands and the traditional lands loyal to House Lannister. Finally, a rider with dispatches from Casterly Rock reached them. There was both good and bad news, Ser Kevan told them as he read the news in the commanders' pavilion after supper.

"Lannisport has been badly damaged, by fire," he said with a heavy sigh. "As was our fleet, caught at anchor by the Iron Fleet."

"How?" demanded Jaime, trying to control his feelings of anger and frustration.

"It does not say," Ser Kevan told him as he handed him the scroll, which Jaime read and passed to other hands eager for news. At least most of the sailors had been able to get ashore or were somehow saved, the report seemed to say. Ships they had gold enough to rebuild, but experienced sailors took years to train. As Jaime thought on this his uncle told them the rest.

"The ironmen tried to assault Casterly Rock but got no further than the Lion's Mouth and were stopped cold by a hail of arrows and bolts and spears. They retreated to Lannisport, burnt the docks and many of the warehouses and grain silos and buildings nearby. They killed many, and took many more as prisoners and then retreated to their ships and sailed away."

"Where to?" Ser Addam asked.

"South," said Ser Kevan with a shake of his head. "They are raiding all along our coast, two or three ships stopping at every town and village. The people have fled inland, but the towns and villages have been plundered and burned. Now the ironmen are at Crakehall. That is all the news."

He passed the other letters to the commanders and they all read them and a long discussion began as to what to do.

"Crakehall is another four or five day's march south of Lannisport," Jaime said as they looked over a map.

"They will be gone again by the time we reach it," Ser Addam said in frustration.

"What are their intentions?" one other commander asked. "Where are they going?"

"South there are the rich lands of the Arbor and the Reach," Jaime observed. "If they know the Tyrells and the rest have marched towards King's Landing, the Reach is open for attack, just like our lands were."

"Maybe we should just let them burn and plunder the Reach," said someone.

"But they will return north eventually," said Ser Kevan. "Then we must stop them once and for all time."

Jaime's eye did not go south on the map, but north, to the Iron Islands. "There," he said, pointing his finger. "That is where we must hit them, as they hit us."

"With what ships?" Ser Addam asked and Jaime looked to the Arbor.

"The Redwyne fleet."

"They are bannermen to the Tyrells," said his uncle.

"Perhaps we can use this as an opportunity to patch things up with the Reach," Jaime said.

"Not as long as Stannis holds Ser Loras and Margaery," his uncle stated. "Besides, the Iron Fleet stands between them and us. And I am not sure the Redwyne fleet could do the job. The only fleet that can stand up to Victarion Greyjoy is Stannis', led by Stannis. He has defeated him in the past."

"Now I think Stannis will thank him, shake his hand and offer him dominion over our lands," Jaime said ruefully.

"Not Victarion Greyjoy's hand," his uncle replied. "He hates Stannis for crushing his fleet ten years ago. And the Greyjoys accept no offers of titles or lands. They take what they want."

There was nothing they could do for the moment and it made their frustrations all the greater. Jaime now knew for certain they should never have left King's Landing, but he kept his opinions to himself, knowing it would do no good to argue with his uncle about this matter now.

The next day they reached the hills of the west and the road got more difficult, going up and down and around hill and valley. The day after that they reached Deep Den, a fortress on the Goldroad, and a raven message was waiting for Jaime from Cersei. Most of it he already knew.

"_Dearest Jaime. Our lands are under assault by ironmen. They have burnt Lannisport and attacked Casterly Rock. King Tommen needs you here. I need you here. I need you by my side. I am surrounded by fools and lickspittles. They lost our fleet, they lost Lannisport. Please hurry. I await you, my love. Cersei_."

As he read it Jaime wondered how many she had hanged after the debacle. Cersei would be looking for someone to blame, someone to put a noose around, to satisfy her need to always blame someone, even when she was at fault. Tyrion was right. He was lucky he was not there when it had happened or most likely she would have blamed him. And if she ever harmed Tyrion, Jaime did not know if he loved her enough to forgive her.

That night Jaime was about to bed down in one of the fortress rooms the commander had offered him when his uncle came to him with a curious request. His son Lancel wished to speak to Jaime.

"How fairs he?" Jaime asked. Lancel had been wounded in the battle for King's Landing and had hovered near death for a few weeks before making a turn for the better. But the wound and his recovery had weakened him greatly.

"As good as can be expected," said Ser Kevan in a worried tone. "The march has not done him or the other wounded much good, but we could not leave them behind for whatever fate Stannis' red woman had in store for them. Lancel…he…he has changed."

"Changed? How?"

"He has become pious. He asks for the army septon to sit with him most nights since he regained his senses. He is speaking very oddly as well, as if he has done some great wrong and seeks forgiveness."

Jaime found Lancel with the septon now, in a private room in the fortress, away from the other wounded. Lancel was sitting up in a bed with pillows behind him for support. Jamie had not seen his cousin for many days now, not since the march began, and he was shocked at his appeared. He was thin and pale, more so than he usually was, and his hair looked more grey than blond now.

The septon said his goodbyes as Jaime came in. He smiled at his cousin, trying to sound cheerful. "Well, cuz, we will soon be home."

"Yes," said Lancel, his voice weak. "You did not wish to leave King's Landing, my father says."

Jaime shrugged. "That is moot now. You best concentrate on recovering, instead of these matters of strategy. We will need your sword for the battles to come."

Lancel nodded. "The gods willing," he said, then his eyes cast away from Jaime's face as if he was guilty of something. "Jaime…I must tell you things. I must...confess…my sins."

Jaime suddenly knew what he was going to confess and he clenched his hands into fists. Jaime had suspected something but did not believe it to be true, had not wanted to believe it was true. "Wait until you are better and we will have a long talk," Jaime told him.

"No…I need to confess…in case of a relapse. I…I killed Robert."

Was that all? Jaime wanted to say, but did not. "The boar killed Robert, cuz, not you."

"It was the wine. It was stronger than normal," Lancel said, not paying attention to Jaime's words. "He drank it all, and then, when the boar charged, he was not steady enough with the spear and it got past the tip and struck him and ripped him open. There was so much blood. But he did not give up, he stabbed the boar with his dagger and killed it."

Jaime could not deny that Robert was brave, as much as he despised him and wanted to kill him when he was alive. "An accident. You could not have known the boar would be there and would charge."

Lancel stared at him. "It was no accident. Your sister…"

"Had nothing to do with it, cuz," Jaime interrupted, his voice suddenly on the edge of anger. "She was far away. You'd best remember…"

But Lancel would not give up so easily. "She gave me the fortified wine! She told me to make sure he was good and drunk!"

Jaime's hand went to his sword and for one brief moment he almost drew it, but then reason prevailed and he removed his hand. Lancel had seen the move and just snorted.

"It matters not if you kill me…cuz."

Jaime let out a breath he was holding in. "Lancel, I should thank you, for helping kill that oaf my sister had for a husband. But if my dear sweat nephew the King hears that his mother had something to do with his father's death…need I say more?"

"The King's father is not dead. You are his father," Lancel said and now Jaime felt his blood boiling but he took a deep breath and calmed himself.

"Not you, too? Does everyone in the realm believe Stannis' lies?"

"Not lies. I know it is true," Lancel said, not flinching, as Jaime now glared at him, silent but enraged. "I know, Tyrion knows, my father knows. The whole realm knows it is true, Jaime."

Jaime snorted, and then laughed, and he could see that unnerved Lancel. "What do you know, dear cousin? What do you know of what Cersei and I share? Or do you? Do you know the sweet taste of my sister's lips and what lies between her legs as well?"

Lancel was silent.

"No? Really? Then why were you always in her quarters and why did she always send her guards away while you were there? Don't deny it, the guards told me everything. Come now. You have confessed to the rest, why not this as well?"

"She was lonely," Lancel said at last, casting his eyes away again, looking guilty again.

"And you happened to be close at hand," Jaime said in contempt, surprised at himself for not being more angry with him. "Not me, but a reasonable likeness. The blond hair and green eyes, oh yes, and even similar facial features. After all, our fathers are brothers. Were brothers. But know this…cuz. She does not love you. She has love enough for only a few people. Herself and me. And her children, of course. Our children. Oh, yes, I will confess, since that seems to be what is in the air tonight. You don't know how many times I asked her to let me kill Robert. She always said no, knowing I would be hunted and killed by Ned Stark and the rest of Robert's loyal companions eventually, no matter how many I took to the grave with me. She loves me, and so would not allow me to take such a risk. But you? No, she used you, used you to get rid of the man who married her and did not love her. Yes, you killed Robert. And if you ever mention any role she played in it to anyone, even your septon, I _will _kill you, with my bare hands. As for the rest…let us forget anything was ever said here. Cuz."

Lancel said nothing but then, just barely, nodded his head, and with that Jaime turned and left the room. He did not sleep well that night, thinking on Cersei's betrayal of their love. The next day as he wearily climbed on his horse he learned his uncle had ordered those still badly wounded to remain in the fortress until they recovered. Lancel was among those left behind while the march continued.

As they marched through Lannister lands the people of the villages and small towns cheered them and many men were greeted by family members as they marched through their hometowns and villages. Some men were left behind with orders to build defenses and prepare in case of any follow up invasion by the Tyrells or Stannis' forces. But Jaime and many of the commanders had little fear of that happening so soon. Stannis was as worn out as they were and both he and the Tyrells had lost much of their cavalry. With the fall rains coming and winter soon after that, perhaps a stalemate would ensure.

As they traveled through their homelands, supplies were more plentiful. After three more days of hard marching they came over a hill and down below they could see Lannisport, or what was left of it at least.

The city was big, not as big as King's Landing, but it held at least one hundred thousand people, the biggest city in the west. Or at least it used to hold that many. Jaime could see the scars from the ironmen attack. Whole blocks had been burnt out, mostly near the waterfront, and many other buildings looked damaged. In the harbor were the remains of many sunken ships, including the ships of the Lannister fleet. Masts stuck up out of the shallow waters like a stand of trees. More burned and broken hulls littered the shoreline. Several more ships were cast up against the inner wall of the stone mole which protected the harbor from storms. Men were moving over the wrecks, salvaging what they could. Jaime could also see the lighthouse on the tip of the mole near the harbor entrance had been destroyed by fire. They could see much activity in the city as people moved about, taking care of the damage, and going about their daily business.

To the right stood Casterly Rock, undamaged, flying the Lannister banners, still a bulwark against an invasion of Lannister lands as it had been for thousands of years. It sat on a high promontory facing the sea and the city. The promontory was topped by massive towers and walls and battlements, some carved from the rock itself, others made of brick and stone mortared tightly together over the centuries. On the side facing Lannisport was a stone road which ended at the Lion's Mouth, a massive gate and fortress that was as big as some castles in the realm. The gate was so named for the shape of it, carved in solid stone like a lion's head with its mouth wide open. Behind the head was the fortress and further inside was a road paved in flat stones, hugging the side of the rock as it wound its way up to the castle proper. Three more gates were on the road, not as formidable as the Lion's Mouth, but strong enough to stop or at least delay any attack. It was the only way into the Rock. One side faced the ocean with a sheer drop and the other two sides were sheer drops to rocky slops below. It was not as high as the Eyrie of the Vale, nor as isolated, but it was formidable and had never fallen.

Under it and in the nearby hills were the famed gold mines of Casterly Rock, still being mined after hundreds of years of activity. The Lannisters mined it slowly, a bit each year for what they needed, keeping their gold reserves preserved for years to come. Tyrion tried to explain the reasons behind this slow mining to Jaime once but it gave him a headache. Something about too much gold being in circulation in the realm at the same time would make it worth less. How could gold be worth less? Gold was gold.

"Home at last," said his uncle as he rode beside Jaime.

"And no ironmen to fight," Jaime replied. They were almost three weeks late, Jaime thought with bitterness, the march west a wasted effort now, as he knew it would be. He did not even look at his uncle.

"Jaime…," Ser Kevan began, as if to argue with him again, but then he stopped. "Come. We must go to the Rock and see the King and Queen."

"We should see to the army first, Uncle."

"The other commanders will take care of their encampment. Come."

As they passed on their orders to the other commanders and then turned right on the road toward Casterly Rock, not for the first time Jaime thought on how different Kevan was from Tywin Lannister. His father would never have rushed off to bend the knee to the King, any King, not even Mad Aerys or Robert, at least not before he was satisfied his army was taken care of. One more lesson Jaime had learned from his father. Any man you face in battle or negotiation is just a man, no matter what his titles and honors and past deeds. If you became overawed by all of that, then you were lost before you even faced the man. Tywin Lannister had bent the knee to kings, but he had also looked them in the eye and told them what was what, unafraid of any consequences.

Jaime and Tyrion had talked on this once, and Jaime had said their father was so confident because he was the richest man in the realm and had the strongest army at his back and everyone knew that. Tyrion had countered by saying that their grandfather had had the same wealth and army as their father, yet he was mocked and laughed at by the whole realm. The difference, Tyrion had said, was that their father did not fear using his wealth and power, and everyone knew that. In his youth he did not show any weakness, and his fearsome reputation often got him what he wanted without having to spend a single dragon or fight a single skirmish.

Well, that is until his two sons were captured and his foolish daughter decided to arrest Ned Stark. Jaime knew all that business with negotiating his freedom had vexed his father greatly. For once in a very long time he had to give up some gold and fight some battles. And he had been outwitted, by a fifteen-year-old boy of the north. Gold had been paid in plenty, battles had been fought and lost, and Lord Tywin Lannister's fearsome reputation took some damage. But all that mattered not now. He was dead, and Casterly Rock and all of the west were poorer for it.

As they approached the Lion Gate, another thought came to Jaime. The succession to the Lordship of Casterly Rock had not been settled yet. One more headache to deal with. But first he had to see Tommen, and pay his respects, as was expected. To his own son, Jaime thought. But he was the King. For now, at least. Then he had to see Cersei.

In the past that would have excited him, the anticipation of having her in his arms again and bedding her. Now that he knew the truth about her and Lancel, and that business with Robert, Jaime did not know how to react to her. Should he tell her all he knew, or just forget about it? In all the years since Jaime had first bed her, almost seventeen years ago, Jaime had never once taken another woman. He had known Cersei could not stay as faithful, not after she had gotten married. But this business with Lancel rankled him to the very core. She had used Lancel to get what she wanted. Was she doing the same with Jaime? Did she really love him?

He had no more time to think on this. As they approached the Lion's Mouth the massive iron doors gilded in gold opened up. A troop of Lannister cavalry came out of the gate followed by an exquisite carriage drawn by four large draft horses. Seated in the back of the carriage was Jaime's Aunt Genna, Kevan's sister and only surviving sibling.

The troop halted and as Jaime and Ser Kevan dismounted, Genna stepped out of the carriage, helped by one of the footmen who had clung to the back of the carriage.

"Genna," said Kevan as he hugged his sister. "It is good to see you."

"And you," Genna replied. Then she hugged Jaime and he kissed her cheek. His aunt was a rotund woman in her early-fifties, and the years had not been kind to her. She still had the blond hair and good looks of the Lannister clad, but bearing four sons and her overindulgence in sweets and drink had made a ruin of her body.

"I had thought you two would be sitting in King's Landing by now," Genna said and Jaime knew it was a rebuke as did his uncle.

Jaime grunted. "So did I."

"The King ordered us home," Ser Kevan replied.

"Cersei ordered you home," Genna told them. "It has been almost three weeks since the attack. That's when you were needed. Now… but come, let us walk for a bit."

"I need to see the King and Queen," her brother stated strongly.

"And I need to speak to you, dear brother, before you see them," his sister replied.

She started to walk away from the Lion's Mouth and Jaime and Kevan followed her after a brief look to each other. Something was afoot. "What is it, Genna?" Ser Kevan asked impatiently when they finally stopped out of earshot of any others.

Genna took a deep breath and then spoke in a low tone. "Cersei had my husband Emmon put in chains."

Jaime sighed and shook his head. He had no love for his uncle, a Frey by birth, but for Cersei to do such a thing meant things had gone awry here. "Her reasons?"

"She named him Hand of the King when they returned," Genna answered. "I told him not to accept but he was full of pride and puffed his thin chest out like he had been named King himself. Well, of course, Cersei had other plans."

"She wanted someone she could control," said Jaime.

"To blame when things went bad," added Kevan.

"Well, at least someone knows the Queen," Genna replied. "When the Iron Fleet attacked and sunk our fleet, she had two admirals hanged and the third one is now in the cell next to my husband. And he only survived because Emmon said they would have need of someone to rebuild the fleet. When they sacked and burnt Lannisport she had the captain of the city watch hanged. He had begged for the garrison of Casterly Rock to come out and help him fight off the ironmen but Cersei would not hear of it. She said they were needed to defend the King. As if anyone could get past the Lion's Mouth! She could have at least sent a few hundred men to help and it might have made a difference. There were thousands of ironmen, and the city watch was overwhelmed. They fought, and many died, and killed many ironmen, but they could not stop the carnage. The garrison stayed safe inside the Rock, and the ironmen sacked Lannisport and…well, after that she had Emmon thrown in a cell with fetters on his hands and feet, saying it was all his fault."

Jaime seethed but he wanted more information before he reached any conclusions. "How did they surprise the fleet?"

"I am not sure. You had best ask that admiral. They came at night, and when the bells started ringing and we looked out our windows on the Rock, the Iron Fleet was already in the harbor, sinking and burning our ships, which were mostly unmanned. They only stayed one day and a bit and took what they wanted but…well, you can see what they have done." She waved her hand toward the city down the slope. "Almost two thousand dead, as many or more hurt, and over six hundred taken prisoner, mostly young women and girls."

A debacle, a true defeat, right on their own doorstep, Jaime thought. Step by step the Lannister reputation for invincibility was crumbling.

"This raid has caused more damage than you know, dear sister," Kevan said ruefully. "We abandoned our siege because of the cries for help we received."

"Yes, from Cersei, not from the rest of us," she said. "Emmon at least had the sense to know it would do no good. He tried to tell her. The castellan tried the same, and so did the captain of the garrison of the Rock. They all told her it would be two weeks at least before you got here. She screamed at them all and wrote her letters and sent her ravens and well, here you are."

"The ironmen are still raiding the coast," Ser Kevan said. "We will deal with them."

"No, brother," Genna told him. "Your news is out of date. They left Crakehall more than five days ago. They were seen sailing south, to the Reach."

Jaime shook his head in frustration. "We marched all this way for nothing."

"No, not for nothing," said Genna. She looked at Jaime sternly. "You are here now, where you are needed, both of you. She will listen to you. Or at least you must convince Tommen not to listen to her. Jaime, you must set things right. You must become the Lord of Casterly Rock."

"No," Jaime said firmly. "That is for Tyrion."

Genna stared at him. "Your father's will. We opened it when we learned of his death, may the gods protect him now. The castellan and I. Tywin left the Rock to you, not Tyrion."

Jaime had expected this. Again, he shook his head. "It is an honor I have never asked for nor do I want. By all the laws of the Seven Kingdoms, Tyrion is the rightful heir. As Lord Commander of the Kingsguard I cannot inherit."

"Cersei said she wanted you to resign," Genna replied. "With the precedent set by the removal of Ser Barristan Selmy, the way is open for you to resign. It is still possible."

"Give it to Tyrion," Jaime said strongly. Why wouldn't anyone listen to him? "He once made all the shit flow to the sea. I am sure he can do it again."

His aunt chuckled at the jibe. "He would make a worthy successor to your father. If Cersei did not hate him so."

"What would you have me do?" Jaime asked her, his voice getting quiet. "Throw my sister in a dungeon?"

"We cannot do that," Ser Kevan said strongly.

"Certainly not," Genna agreed. "Tommen would never allow that, and Cersei is gathering powerful friends in court. But you could control her, Jaime. If you will not become Lord of the Rock then become Hand of the King."

"Again I say no," Jaime said, his anger now rising. "I belong with the army, fighting our enemies. I fear you have wasted your time coming to us, Aunt. Besides, Cersei has hardly ever listened to what I say."

Genna looked at him for a long few moments and then nodded once. "Perhaps you are right. I only hope you can restrain her impulses some."

"I will do my best," Jaime told her, giving her something. "I am sorry you have wasted your time warning us."

She smiled. "Warning you? No, I was just on my daily ride to the market and happened to run into you."

Jaime grinned. "Nonetheless, I thank you for the effort."

Now her face turned grim. "I am sorry Jaime to lay such burdens on you." She looked at her brother. "Both of you. Tywin is gone…and I fear we counted on his strength and wisdom too long and now we are in dire needs of such again." She looked back to her nephew. "Jaime, I need you to do one more thing for me."

"I will try. What is it?"

"If you will not take the post, at least convince Tommen to recall Tyrion as Hand of the King."

Ser Kevan grunted. "Cersei will have him in chains faster than she clapped Emmon."

Genna shook her head. "No, Kevan. Tyrion will know what to do. Jaime, you must count on your little brother, more than ever now."

Jaime agreed to do his best and promised to free his Uncle Emmon, and then Genna and her escort left them to go to market, or wherever she was really going. The ride up to the Rock took a long thirty minutes and by the time they reached the top, Ser Kevan and Jaime had agreed on what to do.

Tommen and Cersei were waiting for them in the Rock's great hall, now converted into the semblance of a throne room. They were tired and travel worn, but Jaime and Kevan were told that the King would see them immediately. No doubt people on the Rock had seen the army coming into the area and Tommen and Cersei expected them.

What Jaime did not expect was to see almost the whole of the court gathered in the great hall. In the short time she had been in Casterly Rock, Cersei had been busy. Up on the dais sat a new throne, which Jaime could see had been fashioned out of gold for Tommen, and it was exquisite. Engraved in its high back were markings of both House Baratheon and House Lannister, though Jaime knew, as he was sure everyone in this room except Tommen did, that the Baratheon ones were no longer necessary. He was a Lannister, through and through, Jaime thought as he and Kevan walked up the center aisle between the crowd of lords and ladies. King Tommen was sitting on the throne, and it seem a might too big for him, as did the newly made crown on his head, also fashioned from gold, with many rubies and emeralds and diamonds encrusted in it.

Sitting beside him on the dais on the golden seat the Lord of Casterly Rock usually sat in was Cersei, looking as radiant as ever, in rich red and gold velvets, with her golden hair falling across her shoulders. She smiled as Jaime and Kevan approached, and Jaime could not tell if it was a smile for him or because she was expected to smile in front of the court.

In front of the dais were the remaining Kingsguard, Sers Arys, Preston, and Moore, looking splendid in their white armor, now cleaner and in better shape than when Jaime had last seen them. He would have to appoint some new members before long to replace those lost.

As they reach the dais Jaime and Ser Kevan went to one knee before the boy king. "The army has returned as commanded, Your Grace," Ser Kevan said.

"Rise, my commanders," King Tommen said in his small boy's voice. Kevan and Jaime stood, and Tommen looked to his mother and she nodded once. "Thank you for your swift return," Tommen said, saying it slowly as if trying to remember it correctly. "I know now that our lands will be safe from these terrible ironmen." When he finished again he looked to his mother and she smiled and Tommen grinned back. Did I do a good job, he seemed to ask, seeking approval.

"The army is yours to command, Your Grace," said Ser Kevan.

Now Tommen looked uncertain and Cersei spoke for the first time, to Kevan and Jaime. "Your men must be tired. As are you. You may retired to your quarters, which have been prepared in anticipation of your return."

She seemed to be dismissing them but now Jaime spoke up. "I need have words with you…Your Grace." He was not speaking to Cersei but to Tommen, directly.

Cersei began to seethe but controlled herself in front of the court. "Whatever you have to say, can wait, Lord Commander." She said it with her sweet smile fixed in place.

"No it can't, dear sister," Jaime said, very loudly, staring at her. "We can do it here or we can retired to a more private place."

Cersei was about to retort but Tommen spoke up. "Yes, let us talk, Ser Uncle. I want to know about the battles. You do have some good stories, I hope?"

Jaime smiled at him. "Many and more, Your Grace. Shall we find a more suitable place?"

Tommen stood and everyone in the court bowed to him. He looked out at them, grinned and then ran off to the left and exited by a back door, with his Kingsguard close behind him. Cersei still smiled at Jaime. "Come," she said and then rose and followed Tommen and Jaime and Ser Kevan followed her. As they were leaving everyone in the great hall began to talk and no doubt it was about what had just happened.

They walked down a long stone corridor and Jaime looked about and took it all in, his boyhood home. Jaime had not been here in a long time, almost three years he seemed to recall, but not much had changed. The rooms were still the same, the paintings and tapestries on the walls the same, the windows looked out over the same courtyards or the sea beyond. At the end of the corridor Ser Preston opened a door for the King and he and his guards went inside, leaving the door opened, but as Cersei got to it she closed it and turned on Jaime and Ser Kevan as all three stood in the corridor.

"What is going on?" she demanded.

"How good to see you too, dear sister. I had not expected it to be so soon, " Jaime said, and it was no quip, but a rebuke.

She faltered for a moment, taken aback by his demeanor. "I…I was not myself," she said, suddenly becoming the wounded bird, an act Jaime had seen often enough to know it for what it was. "We were under attack…it was so terrible. They killed so many."

Ser Kevan spoke. "We have heard."

She stared at him. "What have you heard?"

"Everything," Jaime told her. "How could you put Emmon in chains?"

Now her demeanor changed and she snarled at them. "He failed us! They all failed us! I had to make examples!"

"Killing your commanders is no way to make the men love you," Ser Kevan admonished her and Cersei glared at him.

"Dear Uncle, I told you once I would not be talked to in that tone by you."

Now it was Jaime's turn to grow angry. "It seems someone should be talking to you in that tone."

"I have done what was necessary!" Cersei almost shouted. "You weren't here!"

"No," Jaime told her. "We were where we were supposed to be. Fighting our enemies. Your screams for help convinced our dear uncle here and the other commanders to abandon our siege of King's Landing."

"The ironmen…" Cersei began but Jaime interrupted her.

"Are gone. As Emmon and others told you they would be by the time we returned."

She narrowed her eyes. "Who have you been talking to?"

"It matters not," said Ser Kevan.

"You will tell Tommen you will release Emmon and the admiral at once," Jaime said.

She snorted. "Or what?"

"Or I will not become Hand of the King," Jaime said.

That surprised her. He knew that was what she wanted, at least she had. Now she looked uncertain. But before she could reply the door opened and Tommen stood there. "Are we having a meeting? If not, I would like to go play. If I can." As he said this last he looked to his mother. The King needed permission from his mother to go play, Jaime thought, and he would have laughed if things weren't so serious.

Cersei was all charm again. "Sorry, my King, we are coming now."

They entered the room and here there was a long table and many chairs. Jaime seemed to recall this used to be a servant's quarters of some type, but now it would serve as a council room it seemed, perhaps because it was near the great hall. Jaime thought they might retired to his father's solar, but Cersei was trying to recreate the atmosphere of King's Landing, with the small council room close to the throne room. There were two windows looking out over the sea, and now the shutters were opened and a nice salty breeze came into the room. They sat and the Kingsguards went outside after Cersei dismissed them.

"Where is your small council, Your Grace?" Kevan asked Tommen before Cersei could say a word.

"It's just Mother and Uncle Emmon," Tommen replied. "But he was bad and now he is in prison."

Cersei smiled. "I think it is time we let him go, Your Grace. He has been punished enough. Admiral Lefford as well. His family has served the realm well and we need him to rebuild our fleet."

"Can I sign the papers now and stamp them?" Tommen asked with glee.

"Later," Cersei told him and that seemed to disappoint Tommen. Does he like signing and stamping papers? That could work to my advantage, Jaime thought.

"Tell Uncle Emmon he is not allowed to chew that red stuff around me anymore," Tommen told his mother.

"You have already commanded him to give up the sour leaf," Cersei said.

"Good," said Tommen. Then he looked at Jaime. "You wanted to speak to me, Ser Uncle? Do you have some good tales of the war?"

"Yes, Your Grace. But that can wait for a bit. I have decided I will accept the post as Hand of the King."

Tommen grinned. "That's good. Mother said only you can do this job well." Then he looked troubled. "But Uncle Emmon is Hand."

"He will resign," said Cersei quickly and Tommen seemed to accept that.

"Now, we must discuss the military situation," Ser Kevan said.

"The ironmen are bad," said Tommen, looking a little frightened. "I want them stopped."

"They are gone, Your Grace," Jaime said. "The army is here to protect you now."

"Good," said Tommen with a grin.

"We must rebuild the fleet," Ser Kevan said at once. "That is the first priority."

"It will take time," Cersei told them.

"It seems we will have time," Jaime replied. "The ironmen will not come back here. They have taken what they could from our towns and villages. And I am sure they will soon know the army is returned. The next time the pickings won't be so much or so easy. They are sailing for the Reach now, correct?"

"Yes, that is what we have heard," she told him and he saw her looking at him in a puzzled way and he knew it was the tone he was speaking to her in, formal, as if they were almost strangers. He did not intend to talk this way, it had just happened and he suddenly knew why. She had betrayed him, and it hurt, and he felt no need to show any warmth toward her at this moment.

"What of Stannis?" Cersei asked next.

"He is as worn out as us," Ser Kevan replied. "With the fall rains coming and then winter, I believe our war will be at a stalemate for some time."

"Time Stannis will use to gain support," Jaime added.

Cersei shook her head. "No one will support him. Tommen is the true King."

"He is a bad man," Tommen added.

"Yes, dear, a bad man," Cersei said, her eyes full of worry. "No one wants him for their king."

"But they will bend the knee to him," Ser Kevan warned her.

"He sits on the Iron Throne," Jaime said. "The whole realm believes that whoever sits on it is king."

She scoffed. "It is just a chair. Sitting on it gives him no right to it."

"It gave Robert the right," Jaime reminded her.

Now she glared at him. "Robert defeated the Targaryens. That gave him every right to the throne."

"And if Stannis defeats us?" Jaime asked and then she looked ready to explode and looked to Tommen with worry. She stood and opened the door. "Take the King to his quarters and let him play," she said to the guards and Tommen grinned and jumped out of his chair. Jamie and Kevan stood, and bowed to him and soon the little King was gone.

"Do not speak of such things in front of the King!" Cersei shouted at her brother once the King was gone.

"No?" Jaime asked, his anger rising as well as he remained standing and faced her. "And when should I speak of them? When the battering rams are pounding on the Lion's Mouth gate?"

"The Rock will never fall" she retorted.

Jaime laughed at her and she seethed. "Cersei, dear sister, if they are at the gates of the Rock, then the war is already lost. Our only hope was to take King's Landing and defeat Stannis' forces there. We have no friends! Everyone in the realm hates us! The Starks, the Martells, the Arryns, the Tullys, the Baratheons, the Greyjoys, and even the Tyrells have no love for us! Soon Stannis will gather a great host and march on our lands! War will come to our doors, as it has to some already in Lannisport and on the coast. They will come for our gold and for our heads. Our only chance was to defeat Stannis now!

"Then go!" she shouted back. "Go back to King's Landing and defeat him…if you can!"

"We cannot," said Ser Kevan quietly, finally speaking, and that seemed to take the steam out of Jaime and Cersei's fight. They both sat again and they were quiet for a long time.

"What are we going to do?" Cersei asked at last, like someone lost and without hope.

Jaime stared at her. He was going to use some ruse to get what he wanted, get Tommen to sign some royal decree without knowing what it was, but now he saw she was really scared and it was no trick. He looked at her. "We need Tyrion."

She stared at him and then snorted. "Never." She stood and left the room without another word.

"Perhaps Tyrion will serve us better in Harrenhal, keeping an eye on Stannis," Ser Kevan said after she was gone.

"No…the command of Harrenhal will go to the Mountain," Jaime said, now knowing what he must do. "I need Tyrion here, especially if you and I take the field again. I will convince Tommen to name him Hand once more."

"You are Hand of the King now," his uncle said after a moment. "Tommen will sign the order. He will do what you ask."

"I know," Jaime said as he stood. "Come, let us refresh ourselves first and then…then we must find a way to win this damn war."

"What can Tyrion do that we have not already?" Kevan asked. Jaime did not like the tone of his uncle's voice. He sounded as defeated as Cersei did, and that was bad.

"I know not, Uncle," Jaime said. "But I think I will take solace in the words of an old enemy of mine. Ned Stark always said winter was coming. Sooner than later I hope now. You were right a moment ago. We are all worn out. There will be no more great battles until spring. Time…that is what we need." He suddenly knew that was what Tyrion would say. "Time to gather allies, to make new alliances, to gather swords. Time to rebuild the fleet. Time to think. And time to pray to the gods for some luck for a change."

"We have certainly not had much of that of late."

"No, we haven't."

Jaime was about to leave the room when his uncle spoke once more. "You were right. I was wrong."

Jaime knew what he meant. "We will never know, Uncle. Perhaps it would have gone as you said. Perhaps the men would have broken. Perhaps the Tyrells would have caught us between them and Stannis. But it is no good to dwell on this."

Kevan grinned. "You are right. I am tired and weary of arguing. And I feel like I could soak in a bath for a hundred days. But first…my family."

They went their separate ways after leaving the room. Jaime found his old quarters in a high tower as they were when he was last here three years ago. It looked like fresh linen had been put on the bed and his clothes recently washed and made presentable for him. On his table were a flagon of wine and a flagon of ale and some fruit and bread and cheese. A hot bath had been drawn for him as well. He soaked for an hour and then dried off and put on a dressing gown. As he sat and drank some wine and nibbled on some bread and cheese, a knock came to his door and before he could rise, Cersei had entered. Unwittingly, he felt his manhood stirring.

She rushed to him as he stood and she flung herself into his arms.

"I'm sorry," she said over and over and she began to sob and he could not feel angry at her anymore. She kissed him and he returned the kiss and before he knew it she had dragged him to his bed and they made furious and passionate love as if it was their first time again, or maybe their last.

They lay in each others arms after and said nothing for a while, but then she spoke. "Jaime…why were you so mad at me earlier?"

Jaime said nothing, and then stood and put on his dressing gown. He went to the table and poured two glasses of wine for them and took them to the bed. He remained standing.

"We should not have left King's Landing," he said to her, and then he drank some wine.

"I needed you here, I wanted you here," she said, putting her glass on an end table. "That is why I wrote the letters. Besides, Kevan said you could not win. Was he right?"

Jaime shrugged. "Maybe. The used wildfire on us in the last attack. And…maybe you did not hear…but Varys left us."

"I heard," she replied. "From one of the returning supply columns."

"Kevan and the others lost heart after that. And when the men broke and ran from the wildfire it was…it was terrible. We had many killed and wounded. Kevan and the others feared they would break again in a new attack if that happened again."

"Father would never have let that concern him."

Jaime snorted. "Father is dead, Cersei. Kevan and the rest of them clung to Tommen's summons, your summons, to return home like it was saving them from a terrible dilemma."

"I am not to blame," she retorted. "The ironmen are!"

He sighed. "Forget it. We could talk on this for ages and never agree. It is time to go. We cannot have servants spreading any more gossip about us than the realm already suspects or thinks they know."

She was taken aback by his tone. "Jaime…come to bed again."

He stared at her. "No."

She stood from the bed, stepped up to him, naked, and touched his face and then he grabbed her hand roughly and that surprised her. "Tell me about Lancel," he demanded, his eyes glaring at her.

For a second her eyes widened in surprise and then she laughed. "What lies has he been telling you?"

"Not lies," Jaime replied, letting go of her hand. "Our cousin became pious as he lay recovering from his wound. He nearly died. It has given him an overwhelming desire to cleanse his soul of all his crimes before he dies for real. He claims he bedded you and he had a hand in killing Robert, on your orders."

Cersei turned from him and then swiftly put on her small clothes and her dress as he waited. "Well?" he finally said.

She turned back to him and had her stern queenly face on now, not the sweet sister's or lover's face. "Robert is dead. Why does it matter how it happened? For years you wanted to do it yourself."

"I care not for that!" Jaime seethed. Could she not see how she had betrayed him? "But…Lancel…how could you?"

She laughed at him and it cut him worse that a thousand swords could ever cut him. "How could you?" she mocked him. "Easily enough. He has a cock like all men and he had no qualms about sticking it in me. Then he was mine."

Jaime found himself breathing hard. He felt like wrapping his hands around her throat and choking the life out of her. But all he said was two words. "Get out."

She snorted. "I'll go. But tell me this, brother dearest. In all the years since we first lay together, how many others like me have there been and how many whores have you laid with?"

"None," Jaime confessed to her.

Cersei knew when he was lying to her and she knew he was not lying now and that surprised her. "None?"

"None. There was only you. I only had love for you."

Her eyes softened and she reached for his face again but again he grabbed her hand and now his voice was cold and hard and he meant to be hurtful and she knew it.

"And now I think I may grow old to regret that," Jaime said and then Cersei stared at him and almost seemed about to cry but then her face hardened and she just turned and left him alone.

After she was gone Jaime needed some fresh air and he went to his balcony and stood there and looked out at the sea where the sun was setting in all its glory. He hadn't many regrets in his life, but now he wondered if loving Cersei had been a mistake. Then again, he had no control over that. You cannot control who you love, Tyrion had told him, after that sad episode with the girl who was a whore who was not a whore. Then and there, as he thought on that, Jaime promised to himself to tell Tyrion the truth of that business, if they ever saw each other again. Tyrion would be angry, he knew, but Jaime would not go to his grave regretting not telling him that his wife was not a whore as he had thought she was.

As he stood there watching the sun set, Jaime Lannister thought on many other things, many other regrets. He thought on how he wished he had killed Stannis on the bridge, on how he wished his father hadn't died, how he wished they had not abandoned the siege, and how he wished he had never talked to Lancel that night on the road home.

Above all he wished for guidance on what to do next. In a fight, it was simple. You knew what to do, just kill the man in front of you, your enemy. But now enemies were all around him. He had neither the mind for dealing with them or the patience to think on such things. But Tyrion did. He needed Tyrion. The whole realm needed Tyrion if they did not want Stannis to be their ruler. And if Cersei did anything to stop Tyrion, Jaime now knew he did not have enough love for her anymore to stay his hand if she harmed his little brother.


	39. Chapter 39 Tyrion

**Ned Stark Lives! Chapter 39 Tyrion**

"Fuck," Tyrion Lannister said softly as he read the dispatches the rider had brought them from the Lannister army outside King's Landing. No longer outside King's Landing, he corrected his thought, as he re-read the messages. Tyrion was in his solar in Harrenhal, enjoying his breakfast with Bronn which Pod had just brought them, when the rider was brought to him. The man was tired and travel stained, and said he was a knight of some minor household near the Golden Tooth that was loyal to House Lannister. He told Tyrion that Ser Kevan had sent him and then gave Tyrion the dispatches. There was a letter from his uncle and one also from Jaime.

His uncle's words were short and to the point. "_Tyrion. Ironmen have attacked Lannisport. King Tommen has ordered the army home to defend our lands. We leave as soon as practical. You will remain in Harrenhal and defend it. Ser Gregor Clegane is raiding to the east of you. He will fall back on Harrenhal and join you. You must send the Princess west to Casterly Rock as soon as possible. May the gods protect you. Ser Kevan Lannister._"

He passed the letter across the table to Bronn who quickly read it and then spoke. "Fuck," he said, louder than Tyrion had. "Gone already, are they?" The last was directed at the rider.

"Yes," the rider told them. "I left them at least six days past. They were already breaking camp."

"Six days," Tyrion said with a shake of his head. "And the attack on Lannisport?"

"It happened at least a week before we heard the news," said the rider. Almost two weeks, Tyrion thought with anger building in his mind. No one had sent any ravens to Harrenhal to tell them what was happening out west. That would be Cersei's doing, he knew. He then opened Jaime's letter and quickly read it.

"_Dear brother. The Iron Fleet has attacked Lannisport and we have been summoned home. Sorry, but we are leaving you in the lurch I am afraid. Our dear uncle and the rest of them have lost heart over our prospects of defeating Stannis. They know the ironmen will be gone by the time we reach the west but we are going, despite my arguments against this move. The Mountain will soon join you there with three thousand men. Make sure you keep him and the Hound apart or blood may fly. Mace Tyrell has taken the field against us as well, not willingly, as Stannis still has his son and daughter hostage at King's Landing. Defend Harrenhal if you have sufficient supplies. If not, come home, before Stannis and the Tyrells can trap you there. You and your men are worth more than some old castle. Be wary of the Tullys. If they receive word of our moves they may think Stannis is winning and they may rise up against you. Above all you must send Myrcella west as soon as you can by the safest road. I will try to sort things out west and come east again as soon as possible. Jaime_."

"At least he is more honest," Tyrion said as he handed the letter to Bronn, who read it and then placed it on the table and looked at Tyrion. "Right. So…when do we leave?"

Tyrion gave him an exasperated look. "We don't…not yet, at least." Tyrion looked at the rider. "What can you tell us about what happened?"

The man began to speak and seemed about to collapse from exhaustion with the effort so Tyrion interrupted him. "Oh, forgive me, my manners are not what they used to be. Sit, eat, drink, and tells us all you know."

The rider sat and ate and drank and told them everything about the battles, and the rumors, and the stories, and all he could, everything. Tyrion and Bronn learned of Ser Gregor's mission, and about the screams heard over the city at night, and the fear of wildfire that many in the ranks had, and how they had lost confidence after the last attack, and about Varys' disappearance, which they already knew about, and all the rest. After he was done, Tyrion had a guard show the man to some quarters so he could rest. As he was leaving Tyrion gave the rider a new order.

"You are not to speak of these tidings from King's Landing to anyone. Is that clear?"

"Yes, my lord," the man replied and then he was gone.

"The men will find out soon enough," Bronn told Tyrion when they were alone. He refilled their wine cups and Tyrion took a long drink from his before replying.

"It's not the men I am worried about," Tyrion said, knowing Bronn was right, that they would find out soon enough. But he had another problem on his mind. "If the Hound knows his brother is coming here, it will mean trouble. I hope to have him gone before these reinforcements arrive with his brother."

After that he called Ser Robyn to come to his solar and he shared the news with him.

"Damn," said Ser Robyn as soon as he heard the army had abandoned King's Landing. "What will Stannis do now?"

"They will no doubt strike here next," Tyrion said, taking another drink of wine. "I think we should get good and drunk today, gentlemen. It might be our last chance for a while."

"Aye," Bronn said. "We are truly fucked."

"Maybe not," Ser Robyn said after a moment. "Stannis has fought three big battles in little over a moon's turn. Many of his men have traveled from Dragonstone, to Storm's End, to the Roseroad and then to King's Landing. They are tired, his capital city is in ruins, and he knows the fall weather will soon drench the land in earnest. The Tyrells have no love for him as long as Stannis holds Ser Loras and the girl. They will drag their feet before coming here. And with even our small force we can hold out until Ser Jaime returns from the west."

"And we will have reinforcements soon," Tyrion said, trying to see the bright side of things as well.

"What reinforcements?" Ser Robyn asked.

"Ser Gregor and three thousand cavalry," Tyrion told him.

"That is good," Ser Robyn replied.

"Not so good," Bronn stated. "The Hound hates his brother. Wants to kill him"

Ser Robyn nodded. "Yes, a long simmering feud." He looked at Tyrion. "Your father kept them in check, as did King Robert. What is to stop them now from killing each other?"

"Distance," Tyrion answered. "The Hound is not to know his brother is coming. I think tomorrow is a good time to send the Princess Myrcella west. Ser Robyn, pick five hundred of your best men as escort."

"Five hundred, my lord?" Ser Robyn asked in surprise. "Surely that is too many. We will need these men here in case Stannis is not as cautious as we think he will be."

"Five hundred I said and five hundred it shall be," Tyrion told him sternly. "The Tullys may already be rethinking their peace treaty if Stannis offers them much for attacking us. If they intercept the Princess on the road west, she will make a good hostage, don't you think? We cannot allow that. Five hundred men will guard her, with the Hound. It will also be five hundred less mouths to feed."

"Aye," said Bronn. "But the Mountain will bring in many more soon after."

Tyrion knew he was right. "If Ser Gregor does not bring in much in the way of supplies with him, our dwindling resources will disappear more quickly. And the countryside around here is already barren. If we are placed under a long siege we will be soon reduced to eating the horses and the rats and the cats."

"Perhaps we should all head west," Ser Robyn said cautiously.

"I like the sound of that," Bronn said and Tyrion gave a weary shake of his head.

"No, gentlemen, we are staying, for the nonce at least. This is our last outpost in the east. As long as we hold it, it will be thorn in Stannis' side that he cannot ignore. He will be cautious about moving west and it will give Jaime and Ser Kevan more time to make new plans. Ser Robyn, see to the Princess' escort. They leave by noon tomorrow."

"As you command, my lord," Ser Robyn said. "I will start making the arrangements."

He left them and Bronn looked curiously at Tyrion. "You sure you want to stay here to wait for a siege?"

Tyrion grunted. "Certainly not. I don't relish eating rats and cats and my ugly head likes staying attached to the rest of my twisted body. The trick will be to get away before the enemy is close enough to pursue us. But we can't leave so quickly as to seem we abandoned our post without good cause."

"Then we will need plenty of scouts and patrols on the roads south of here to know when Stannis is coming to bugger us."

"Yes, see to the orders," Tyrion told him. "And send some to the east as well. I don't want the Mountain coming here before his brother is good and gone. Tell them to send word when they sight Ser Gregor's force."

Ser Gregor did not come that day, thankfully, and Tyrion did get a little drunk, and by nightfall he was ready for bed and his bed warmer Shae. He was in the great hall, supping with some of the men and Bronn and his wildings, thinking on how to stretch out their supplies to last longer, when he saw the Hound approaching the head table down the center aisle that went the length of the hall between the table and benches.

"IMP!" shouted the Hound, the word echoing in the mostly empty hall, and Tyrion just wearily sighed as silence came over the men at their benches.

"He knows," said Bronn by his side.

"Without a doubt," Tyrion replied quietly. "Do keep your sword handy. Dogs are not my favorite animal, especially when they have their blood up."

By this point the Hound was standing across the table from them. "When is Gregor coming?" he snarled at Tyrion.

"Soon," Tyrion replied with half a grin. "But you won't be here."

"The hell I won't!" the Hound answered in a growl. "Trying to get me away before he comes will do you no good. I obeyed your father and Robert for years. I kept my distance from Gregor, for the most part. Too bloody long I have let other men tell me what to do. Not now. Now it is time for me to end this once and for all. I will have Gregor's head or he will have mine!"

The whole hall was listening and after the Hound finished he was breathing hard and his eyes were bulging and Tyrion could tell he had been drinking. From the side of his vision Tyrion could see Timett sidling around to the right of the Hound and several other large men were rising from nearby tables behind the Hound. Clegane did not notice them so intent was his anger on Tyrion.

Tyrion rose and stood on his chair and then stood on the table so he could at least not have to crane his neck so much to look the Hound in his scar ravaged face. He got within a good foot of the Hound and glared at him. "You will do as you are ordered, Clegane. You will leave on the morrow with the Princess for Casterly Rock. These orders come from the King. And from me, your liege lord."

"Piss on you," the Hound said in a calmer voice, his breathing slower now.

Tyrion snorted. "Fine. From this moment on your services are no longer needed by House Lannister. You may go and meet your brother or your maker or whoever you wish. Be gone by morning."

The Hound just glared at him. "I have been loyal to House Lannister for over a dozen years. I am the Princess' shield. You cannot dismiss me! Only the King can do that!"

"So can I! I am the head of House Lannister!" Tyrion shouted back at him. It wasn't formal yet but by all the laws of the kingdoms it was true. "I can dismiss you from my service anytime I like! So unless you want to go begging in the streets or sell your sword to a free company across the Narrow Sea, prove your loyalty to House Lannister and your King, and do your duty for the Princess. You cannot protect her if you are dead!"

The Hound said nothing, but then his big right hand reached forward. For a moment, Tyrion thought he meant to grab him but he only grabbed a flagon of wine from the table. Bronn was standing, his hand on his sword hilt and by now Timett and five other big men were very close to the Hound.

The Hound drank some wine and pulled the flagon down and stared at Bronn and looked at the others nearby. "Piss on all of you," he growled. And then he turned and left, carrying the wine with him, and the men behind him parted to let him leave, his boots echoing on the stone floor of the great hall as he walked away.

The men visibly relaxed and returned to their tables. As Tyrion sat again Bronn looked to him. "What do we do with him?"

"Let the dog get drunk," Tyrion told him. "When he passes out, take Timett and Shagga and a few others, large others, and drag the Hound to a cell."

"Aye," Bronn said. "He'll be mighty pissed when he wakes up."

"That cannot be helped," Tyrion replied. "I have need of him yet and I cannot have his brother kill him or have him run off in the middle of the night looking for him."

"Who you think would win?" Bronn asked.

"Between the Mountain and the Hound?"

"Aye."

"Why? Are you placing a wager?"

"Some of the lads been discussing it, off and on. Minding this castle is a might boring at times."

"The Mountain would win," said Tyrion without hesitation. "And any man who bets against him is a fool."

"Odds might be good then," said Bronn. "Could get ten to one for the Hound to win. Maybe better. The Hound, he's no wilting flower either, you know."

"You have seen Gregor Clegane, have you not?" Tyrion asked with raised eyebrows.

"Aye, you know I have. We fought with him against the Starks on the Green Fork."

Tyrion was sure he felt pain in his elbow again as Bronn reminded him of that adventure. "I am sure once you think about Ser Gregor's size again and his ferocity in battle, you will think twice about betting against him," Tyrion stated. "Hopefully, you will never have a chance to place that wager. Now, that is enough excitement for one night for me. I think it is time for bed."

The next morning Sandor Clegane could be heard shouting at the cell block guards over much of the inhabited part of the castle, growling at them to release him from his cell or he would kill them all. He was in one of the cells that just had bars, no solid walls, so his shouts were easily heard outside the cell block. When Tyrion and Bronn arrived he was in a proper rage and ready to kill anyone, and he began to curse them soundly. But when he saw Princess Myrcella coming in behind them, he suddenly went quiet.

"Princess…I did not know…I…" But he faltered, trying to grope for words. Tyrion could see he had a terrible hangover, his face pale and sweaty, his body unsteady.

"I don't want you to try to kill your brother," Myrcella said in her sweet little girl's voice and Clegane sighed and turned his eyes from her and glared at Tyrion.

"You dare to use her to get what you want?"

"It's what she wants as well," Tyrion replied. Clegane was right, he was using her, but he needed the Hound to protect her and he needed her to get him to leave.

"I don't want you to die, Sandor," Myrcella said to the Hound. "I want you to take me to Mother and Tommen."

Clegane looked at her and shook his head. "I must do this first, my Princess."

"No!" she said in what passed for a commanding voice from her. "I command you to not fight your brother."

Clegane shook his head once again and he sighed heavily. "Do you know how I got my scars, Princess?"

She quickly answered. "From a fire."

"Yes…a fire…my brother put…."

"Enough!" Tyrion said swiftly. "She does not need hear this."

"No?" the Hound snarled. "You brought her here. She will hear it all so she knows what kind of men are in this world and why I must kill my brother."

Tyrion now knew it was a mistake to bring the Princess here. "Bronn, take her back to her quarters."

"Wait!" Myrcella said. She looked at Clegane with pity in her eyes. "I know he did it to you…Sansa…she told me…please don't be mad at her."

The big man seemed to deflate at the mention of Sansa Stark, all his anger draining away as his body went slack. "I could never be mad at her," he said quietly.

Myrcella approached the bars. "Sansa said you wanted revenge, that you could not forgive him."

"Never," Clegane said.

"Please try…for me…and for Sansa. She does not want you to die either, she told me."

Clegane's eyes were glistening now, and Tyrion did not know what to make of this. What was the connection between the Hound and Sansa Stark? Suddenly Clegane fell to his knees inside the cell and put his head against the bars. Myrcella stepped forward, reached through the bars and touched his head and then his scar ravaged cheek. He seemed to almost flinch at her touch, not in pain, but as if he was unused to anyone touching him there.

"Come. You are my shield," she said in her sweet voice. "I need you to protect me. I need you to take me to my mother and brother."

For a long moment he did nothing and then he nodded once, looked up and stared at Tyrion. "I will go to Casterly Rock. Today. Open the door."

Tyrion looked to Bronn, nodded, and Bronn took the keys from a nearby guard and opened the door and the Hound stepped out.

"You leave in one hour," Tyrion told him. "Get yourself some food."

He stared at Tyrion for a long moment and Tyrion could feel the hatred in his stare, but then the Hound just nodded and followed Myrcella out of the cell block.

"It ain't over between them two," Bronn said as he handed the keys back to the guard.

"No, it isn't," Tyrion replied. "Someday they will fight."

Princess Myrcella and her escort left by the main gate just after the noon hour. The Princess and her two handmaidens were on horse now, Tyrion vetoing the use of the wheel house they had traveled from King's Landing in as it was too slow and cumbersome for travel over hill and dale. Tyrion estimated the journey would take them a week or more to reach the Lannister lands to the west. The worry was that they would have to pass through Tully lands, the road passing close by Riverrun. He told the commander to head south of the road where possible, to have a more direct route to Lannister lands in the west. The terrain was hilly and forested, but the further south of Riverrun they were, the better. Yet he knew even if they left the road they would have to pass through lands where no one loved the Lannisters. Once they reached the Golden Tooth they were to send word that they had arrived in the west. He also gave strict instructions to the cavalry commander leading them to not get in a fight with anyone unless they absolutely had no choice.

The Hound still looked a bit unsteady as he led his massive horse he called Stranger from the stables. Tyrion had just said goodbye to Myrcella and she was mounting her horse with the help of Bronn when the Hound arrived.

"I am sure there is no point in giving any instructions as to your mission," Tyrion said to him.

"I know my duty," he replied with a grunt.

"The cavalry commander is in charge," Tyrion added. "But you are to do as you think best to protect the Princess and see her safely to Casterly Rock."

"The Tullys will not be pleased to see us," the Hound said.

"No, indeed not," Tyrion replied. "But you will steer clear of Riverrun. You have a formidable force with you and they should think twice before they do anything foolish. Safe journeys."

The Hound said nothing but just mounted his horse. A minute later Tyrion said his final goodbyes to the Princess and the group left Harrenhal. After a short time the last rider left through the gates and they were gone.

"Now what?" Bronn asked Tyrion. He knew Bronn as itching to leave, to do something before they were trapped here with no escape. But they couldn't do that yet.

"Now we wait. Sooner or later Stannis will make his move. Then we will know what to do."

The next day before noon, as Tyrion talked to Ser Robyn about supplies while nearby Bronn was training Pod and some other young squires in the main courtyard, a scout rode in to report that the Mountain and his men were a few hours ride away and heading in their direction.

"Seems we got the Hound away just in time," said Tyrion to Bronn and Ser Robyn.

"Shame," said Bronn and when Tyrion gave him a quizzical look Bronn shrugged. "Timett was going to give me twenty to one odds for the Hound to beat his brother."

Tyrion shook his head in exasperation and then resumed his conversation with Ser Robyn.

"With the supplies we gave to the Princess' party and with these new men to feed, our provisions won't last a month," Ser Robyn told him.

"Then it is past time I sent word to Casterly Rock of our situation," Tyrion said. "If they can't send aid we may have to abandon Harrenhal while we still have enough food to see us west. Unless Ser Gregor has brought us something more than his temper and his sword and more mouths to feed with food we do not have."

Ser Gregor did bring them more, much more, when he came in later that day. Behind his party came almost fifty wagons, loaded with booty and food from his raids to the east. They also had some livestock, chickens, pigs, sheep, and a few cows. On top of this they had a prisoner, and Tyrion was pleased to see this particular man.

He was dragged by a rope behind Ser Gregor's massive war horse, and was so badly beaten and near naked, his bare feet and knees bloody from being forced to walk and dragged behind the horse, he would have been unrecognizable except for his height and the long ropey beard he had.

"Imp," said the Mountain as he halted his horse before Tyrion and the others in the main courtyard. "I bring you the Goat." Ser Gregor tugged on the rope and the Goat was dragged forward and fell to his knees in the mud of the courtyard.

"I would rather have just had his head," Tyrion said as he looked down on Vargo Hoat.

"In due time," said the Mountain. "This one must suffer first for his crimes."

"Seems like he has suffered already," Tyrion replied. "Well, I think a cell for him until you do with him as you wish. Then see to your men and then we need talk on some matters."

The Mountain dismounted and shouted to some men behind him to bring the Goat to the cells. These men were not Lannister soldiers, but the Mountain's loyal retainers from his own lands. A motley crew they were, in all kinds of armor and with plenty of lethal weapons adorning them. Tyrion knew they were a ruthless lot, and had to be to ride with the Mountain.

As Vargo Hoat was picked up and the rope attaching him to the horse was cut, he spoke to Tyrion in his slobbering voice. "Mercy, Lord Lannithter," he gasped.

Tyrion had no mercy for the likes of Vargo Hoat. "You should have thought of the consequences when you tried to kidnap the Princess and Lady Stark."

"Not me…my men. I did not know."

"Men under your command," Tyrion told him. "Take him away."

Later, when the Mountain's men were settled, he came to the solar where Tyrion, Bronn, and Ser Robyn awaited him.

"Where is my brother?" Ser Gregor asked right away.

"Gone to Casterly Rock, with the Princess," Tyrion told him. "And you are to stay here, as far away from him as possible."

"So he ran away again, like the cowardly dog he is," Ser Gregor said with a snort.

"He did not run," Tyrion replied. "He begged me to let him stay and fight you."

"You should have let him stay. Sooner or later we must come to blows."

"Not while I am Lord of Casterly Rock, Ser Gregor," Tyrion told him with a sharp look.

"Lord…of the Rock?" the Mountain said with skepticism. "Ser Jaime is Lord of the Rock."

"No," Ser Robyn told him. "Ser Jaime is Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and cannot inherit. Lord Tyrion is now our liege lord."

The Mountain grunted and looked at Tyrion. "So be it…my lord."

"Good," Tyrion answered, glad that was settled. "Now tell us of your raiding."

"We struck Rosby first, took what we could and killed some. Then we rode to Duskendale. We had a sharp fight there, outside the fort, but they retreated inside. The Dun Fort is a tough nut to crack so we let them cower inside while we raided the port. We took much and burned the rest. Then before we could reach Maidenpool a messenger reached us from Ser Kevan and told us they were going to Lannisport and for us to come here quickly."

"Your losses?" Tyrion asked.

"About a hundred dead and as many wounded. I still have over twenty-seven hundred men."

"What news of Stannis' movements?" Tyrion asked him next.

"None…my lord."

"He must still be in King's Landing," said Ser Robyn. "Our scouts to the south report no movements."

"Then we are in a waiting game," said Tyrion. He turned his attention back to the Mountain. "Where did you find Hoat?'

"In Duskendale, trying to get a ship to the east," Ser Gregor replied. "My men found him in a bar by the docks. He killed three of them before they took him. They knew I wanted him alive."

"Do with him as you please," Tyrion told him. "As long as I don't have to hear his screams at night."

"As you command," Ser Gregor said. "Where is Ser Armory Lorch? I would think he would be at a war council."

"He's dead," Bronn told him.

"How?"

"My sword in his belly," Bronn replied. "He tried to cut Tyrion's throat."

"He was planning to surrender Harrenhal to Stannis," Ser Robyn told the Mountain. "We confronted him and he attacked Tyrion."

The Mountain grunted and looked to Tyrion. "He would not serve under you?"

"No, I think he would have, if he had no other choice," Tyrion answered. "Stannis gave him the other choice. Ser Amory did not feel we could win now that my father is dead. Thought his best chance of getting out of this with his head was to join Stannis."

"Stannis would have put his head on a spike," Ser Robyn said. "The moment after he surrendered Harrenhal."

"Better than the fire his red cunt is serving up for prisoners," Bronn said and they told the Mountain that story and all the rest that they knew. The rest of the day they spent going over the defenses of Harrenhal and how best to use the Mountain's men. Pod brought them some lunch of bread, cheese, cold meat and ale as they talked.

And so it went for the next week. No news came of Stannis movements, at least not in their direction. The Riverlands lords and their people were quiet as well. There was also no news from the west. Tyrion sent ravens, telling them of his low supplies and that the Princess was heading west and that the Mountain had joined them, but he still received no word from Jaime or anyone else.

The only thing of interest to happen was that after four days of slow torture the Mountain finally put the Goat out of his misery. Tyrion did not approve, but he knew he had to show these men he was no softy when it came to punishing those who crossed House Lannister. The Goat's head was soaked in tar and placed on a spike over the main gate of Harrenhal, a warning to all not to cross the Lannisters, as if that needed further stating. Maybe it did, Tyrion thought. His family's reputation was taking a battering these days. His father and his brother were hoodwinked by Robb Stark, he was kidnapped by Lady Stark, Stannis had kicked them out of King's Landing, and the Iron Fleet attacked Lannisport. No one seemed to fear the lion anymore. That needed to be rectified.

During the week when no news came it rained every day except one, and the maester told Tyrion that fall was definitely here. The cisterns of the castle were refilled with fresh water, but mud was in every courtyard, and the ruins of the castle had more than one leaky roof. The rain made their moods fouler and the only things that comforted Tyrion were a good flagon of wine and Shae's warm arms at night.

Finally, news came from the west. A raven arrived from Jaime, describing what he had found when he at last returned to the Rock. Uncle Emmon Frey in chains, admirals and captains hung on Cersei's orders, the fleet sunk at anchor, the city docks and warehouses torched, thousands dead or missing, the Iron Fleet raiding the coast, and now heading to the Reach. And, most surprising of all, Jaime was now Hand of the King. But not for long, he said cryptically at the end of the message. Tyrion did not have to wait long to ponder the meaning of that. Three days later, as Tyrion still lay in bed with Shae in the morning, the maester came with a new raven scroll for him. "From Casterly Rock," the maester said as Tyrion greeted him at the door.

Tyrion came back inside and closed the door. Shae still lay slumbering but as she heard him close the door she came awake and looked at him standing there reading the scroll.

"What is it?" she asked in a sleepy voice.

Tyrion sat down and pour himself some wine and drank before he spoke. "A royal decree from King Tommen. He has named me Hand of the King again."

"Fuck," she said as she buried her head in her pillows. "Why can't they leave you alone?"

"Tommen has ordered me west as soon as possible," Tyrion added. "The Mountain is to take command here."

Shae sat up, now fully awake. "Don't go. Your sister will find a way to hurt you."

"Jaime will be there."

"He will be with the army. You will be there with that cunt and she hates you."

Tyrion knew she was right, but something inside of him wanted to go, wanted to be Hand again. "It's a direct order from the King. To refuse would be treason."

"Your father refused Mad Aerys once."

"Yes," he said and gave her a puzzled look. "How did you know that?"

"I listen when you talk. I have learned much of this cursed land from your tongue."

He grinned. "And I have enjoyed much from your tongue as well."

"This is no time for jokes," Shae snapped at him. "You have to write to them and say no."

"But…I don't want to say no."

Shae glared at him. "You're a fucking idiot. Go then! I don't care! I'm staying here."

"With the Mountain and his lot? No, my dear, you will not stay here. They will have you as they will and it will not be pretty, I assure you. And if Stannis comes there will be a siege and that would not be pretty either."

"I can't go to Casterly Rock," Shae shot back. "Your sister thinks I was Lord Varys' serving girl, remember? She will squeeze me to know what he has done."

"True enough," Tyrion said as he drank some more wine. "We must find a place for you on the road, some little town near the Rock, or maybe a holdfast where you can be safe."

"More hiding," she said in disgust.

"It's that or come to the Rock and take a chance Cersei does not remember you. Or stay here and be a plaything for the Mountain's men until they tire of you."

"There is no other choice?"

He chuckled. "You could marry me and then…"

"Yes," Shae said swiftly.

Tyrion gulped. "What?"

"Yes…I will marry you. Your sister cannot touch me if I am the wife of the Lord of Casterly Rock."

"But…but…I…was…" No, he could not say that. He could not say he was jesting, that would hurt her and she was already mad enough. And Tyrion knew that deep down he had strong feelings for her, perhaps even loved her. Could he marry her? Would the realm allow it?

She laughed at him. "Look at you. Like a little worm trying to escape the bird. I was joking. Of course I cannot marry you. Then she would find a way to kill me for sure."

Tyrion came over to the bed and kiss her once and looked at her with a gentle smile. "Some day…when peace comes, and if we all still have our heads…I will find a way to make you happy."

"Make me happy now. Refuse the King."

Tyrion took a deep breath and let it out. "I can't." I don't want to would have been a more truthful answer.

She sighed heavily. "Then I guess we are going to Casterly Rock."

The news spread quickly. Of course Bronn and Pod were going with him, and Tyrion hoped Shagga and Timett and the surviving wild men and women would as well. But he was soon disappointed.

"Halfman," Shagga began as he drank with Tyrion that night in the great hall. "We have traveled far and have seen much. We have killed many and have drunk of battle and blood for many lifetimes of a man. We have plenty of gold and silver and booty for our people. We will return to our mountains to enjoy it while we still have life."

Timett and the other clan leaders said much of the same and that night they drank often to their friendship and shared many stories of their deeds. By the time Tyrion crawled into bed with Shae he was too drunk to do more than nuzzle her neck and breasts and then he passed out. The next day, with his head feeling like it was ready to split in two, he made his final goodbyes to the wildings as they rode out the gates on their shaggy ponies with more draft horses hauling a dozen wagons full of coin and booty behind them.

"May you live long and fuck many beautiful women, Halfman!" roared Timett as he rode past.

"Thank you, my friend!" Tyrion replied, winching a bit from the pain in his head. "And if you ever see Lysa Arryn and her rotten son, push them both off a mountain for me! I will pay you handsomely, and you know a Lannister always pays his debts!"

With one last rousing cry of "Halfman!" the wildlings rode off to the northeast and soon were gone from sight. Tyrion already missed them.

"There go our last allies," Bronn said in a rueful tone as they walked back inside the castle and the gates were shut.

"Yes. We are quite friendless," Tyrion replied. "It is time we did something about that. Come Bronn, we have much to discuss. Let us have some food and drink and then make our plans." Soon they were in his solar again and they talked and ate after food and drink had been brought by Pod.

"And what exactly are we going to do to pull your great family's nuts out of the fire?" Bronn asked after he gulped some ale.

"First, we are going to put my sister in her place where she can no longer interfere in the running of this war."

"How?"

"I'm still thinking on that little problem. As for making new allies, I have a nephew and a niece to marry off."

"Aye?" Bronn said with a hint of skepticism in his voice. "And who would want to marry them if Stannis looks like he will win the war? No family will be fool enough to give their daughters or sons to wed a King and Princess that might soon be dead."

"Your lack of confidence is most disturbing, Bronn," Tyrion replied. "You forget that Margaery Tyrell wanted to marry Joffrey once. Tommen is King now and I am sure she still wants to be Queen."

"Could be…if she wasn't stuck in King's Landing."

"Yes…that is a problem. But the Tyrells will come to our side, once their children are free. They hate Stannis. He killed his brother, who was married to Margaery. He holds their liege lord's children hostage. His red whore killed their men with sorcery."

"Burning oil, it was, or maybe wildfire," Bronn said as he picked up his tankard of ale and sipped. "No such thing as sorcery."

"Yes, and an assassin killed my father and Renly both," Tyrion said in a sarcastic tone. "Nevermind all that. Back to the Tyrells. All we need is a bit of luck and they will come to our side. Perhaps even some of the men who turned their cloaks to join Stannis after Renly died will turn on him and desert."

"Could be," Bronn said. "But you still need a fleet to defeat the ironmen and Stannis' fleet. And we need more men with more swords, we need…"

"Gold, which we have plenty of," Tyrion interrupted. "Gold will buy us all we need. All is at a stalemate now. Time is on our side, not Stannis'. He will gather allies as well, but the Starks and the Tullys are in no shape for renewed battle before winter comes. Lysa Arryn will stay where she is. As for the Dornish…Prince Martell has two sons. Perhaps one would like to marry Myrcella."

"Don't they hate your lot?"

"That they do," Tyrion said thoughtfully. "Ser Amory and Ser Gregor killed Elia and her children. I already have Ser Amory's head. Perhaps I should have let the Mountain fight the Hound. If the Hound won I could deliver both heads to Dorne and say justice was done."

"The Mountain is right here," Bronn said. "Why not just take his head?"

Tyrion raised his eyebrows. "And who will fight him? You?"

"Nope. Just cut his throat in the middle of the night. Or on the privy. All men must sleep and shit."

Tyrion laughed. "Yes, they must. But you forget the Mountain has his own men with him."

"All except a dozen or so are loyal to House Lannister."

Already that dozen or so were causing trouble, gambling and drinking and picking fights with other Lannister men. Tyrion had to tell the Mountain to keep his men in hand and Ser Gregor had already used his massive hands and strength to snap the neck of one who was so drunk he spoke back to the Mountain when told to sober up.

Tyrion seriously thought on doing as Bronn suggested for a moment and then dismissed it. "No, I can't start my rule of the Rock by killing my loyal bannermen. My father always knew Ser Gregor was the one the Martells wanted. But he had need of the Mountain and so do I. He is ruthless and I need him here while we go west."

"Just as well," Bronn replied. "The Dornish most likely will never make any kind of deal with your family, no matter if you give them the Mountain's head or not."

"They won't support Stannis either," Tyrion added. "They hate him as much as they hate us. His claim comes from Robert's which comes from the murder of Elia and her children."

"So does Tommen's," Bronn added.

Tyrion raised his eyebrows again. "True…all true…but…well, I guess the Dornish hate us all. Maybe they will stay neutral in all this. Or wait until we bleed each other dry before striking for their revenge. So. Our only hope for new allies lays with the Reach. If they don't come to our side, then I fear we have little hope of prevailing in this war."

"We could just head across the Narrow Sea now," Bronn said, reminding him of their plan to leave Westeros.

Tyrion sighed. "It sounds good, but not yet. We are still in the fight. As much as I hate my sister, I love my brother and most of the rest of my family, and the people of the west and the whole realm deserve a better king than Stannis Baratheon. These sacrifices we hear that his red woman is making. That is just the beginning. This Lord of Light she follows. She will plant the seeds of this new religion in Westeros. With Stannis as King and the Lord of Light as his savior, how long before she is demanding that all of Westeros follow her god as well?"

"I'm not a godly man, as you well know," Bronn said. "But I know the people won't stand for it."

"Indeed not," Tyrion replied. "I am sure Stannis knows as well. But just how much he is under her power, that we have yet to see."

"Too bad Varys never found an assassin to cut her throat."

Tyrion smiled. "We can still find one. And now I am Lord of the Rock and Hand of the King, there is no lack of gold to pay one."

"Speaking of payment…"

"Yes, yes," Tyrion said with a chuckle and a shake of his head. "You will get all I promised and more. Including your lordship. Now, Lord Bronn, let us begin preparing for our journey west."

The next day they were packed and ready to go by late morning. Tyrion had some last words with the Mountain, promising to send supplies from the west as soon as possible and giving permission for him to abandon Harrenhal if his position became untenable. The Mountain only said he would never abandon the castle and would cut the head off any man who suggested they do so without a fight. Tyrion knew his rule of the castle would be brutal, but that was why his father had kept him around and why Tyrion needed him now.

Tyrion spied Shae in a supply wagon near the rear of the column and then after he gave her a reassuring grin, he rode to the front with Bronn and Pod at his side. Ser Robyn and five hundred cavalry were waiting for them outside the gates. After all he had done for Tyrion and House Lannister, he could not leave Ser Robyn behind to be under the Mountain's command and to await whatever fate Stannis had in store for them. Ser Robyn was a good leader and the Lannisters would have need of such men before all this was over.

Tyrion gave Ser Robyn the command to lead off and in a few moments they were heading west, leaving Harrenhal behind, and Tyrion secretly hoped he never saw the place again. He set his mind to what he had to do when he reached the Rock. Above all he had to once and for all confront Cersei. She would have to give up all reins of power and fade into the background and do her duty as mother of the King and nothing more. If she refused, well, then she and all the rest would see just how much their father Tyrion was really like.


	40. Chapter 40 Theon

**Ned Stark Lives! Chapter 40 Theon**

Theon Greyjoy led his small group through the Wolfswood, looking for the Stark boys who had run away. He was in a proper fit of anger, anger at Maester Luwin for betraying him, anger at Bran and Rickon Stark for escaping, anger at Hodor and the Reed children and that Osha woman for helping them. He sworn he would kill them all if he found them. Well, maybe not all. He still needed the Stark boys. As he and his three men, Werlag, Stygg, and one of Fishwhisker's sons, plus his mute squire Wex, trudged through the woods following the kennel master Farlen and his hounds, Theon made up his mind to never return to Winterfell. If, when, he found Bran and Rickon, he would head to Deepwood Motte as his sister suggested. Black Lorren and the rest would burn the castle and leave in two days as he commanded. Knowing Black Lorren he might have done it already. They would join him at Deepwood Motte with his sister and her men.

That bitch, he thought, as his mind strayed to Asha. She got more ships and more men than him when their father made his battle plans back on the Iron Islands! Their father trusted her, but not his only remaining son. Too soft, he said I was, too long in the green lands with my other family. A family Balon Greyjoy sent Theon to when his stupid rebellion had failed and Theon's two older brothers had died, one at Seagard and the other at Pyke. He was just a small boy of almost ten when that had happened, but he still remembered seeing his father bend the knee to Robert Baratheon. Then King Robert had told him to rise again and said that he was merciful and would take the Iron Islands back into the fold. But there was a price to pay, and Theon was part of that price. Almost ten years he had lived in Winterfell, had supped with Lord Stark's children every day, had learned to fight alongside Robb and Jon, had kissed his first girl in the godswood and later lay with his first woman there as well. But he was never one of them, never belonged, and deep down he always knew he would never belong.

He was heir to the Iron Islands but he had been too long away from the salt and rocks. That much his father said he knew was true. Much and more of his people's ways he had forgotten. The iron price. We pay the iron price. We do not sow. We take what we want. All this had been drilled into him when he was a child by his father and his fierce uncles, Aeron, Euron, and especially Victarion. Now Aeron was the Damphair, a religious fanatic. Euron Crow's Eye was banished from the Iron Islands for a crime against his brother Victarion, which Theon knew had something to do with Victarion's rock wife. No one had seen or heard of the Crow's Eye in years, Asha had told him when he had returned to Pyke. Victarion still commanded the Iron Fleet, and had taken Moat Cailin. But then he couldn't hold it. Or he had abandoned it. There was no word of what had exactly happened at Moat Cailin, except a raven from White Harbor to say it had fallen and the Stark army was heading to Winterfell.

Maester Luwin had been right. Theon could not hold Winterfell with his few men. In the moments before the Frey boy had entered the great hall to ask where the Stark boys were, Theon had been about to agree to Luwin's wisdom, to leave. But the ironmen would not leave peacefully. They would gather as much gold as they could carry, and take the Stark boys as hostage, and then burn Winterfell. But once Bran and Rickon disappeared, his plan had gone to shit. He needed them, not only for revenge for his brothers, but also to keep the Starks at bay when he retuned to Pyke. And to show his father and Asha and the rest that this attack had not been for nothing.

Up ahead the sound of the hounds braying brought Theon back to the present. They seemed to have the scent. Farlen the kennel master had taken four hounds with them, and after they had emerged from the dank tunnel they had easily picked up the scent. But the hounds had been skittish, and Farlen knew why.

"It's the dire wolves," he had said. "They can smell them. They are afraid of them."

"You best get them moving or I will give them and you more reasons to be afraid," Theon had growled at the kennel master, his hand on his sword hilt. Farlen got them moving, and then all the rest of the afternoon they had pursued the scent. But the ones they searched for had at least a four hour head start, and as the sun was setting there was still no sight of them.

"We're exhausted, my lord," Werlag said and finally Theon ordered them to stopped for a rest. They had brought little food with them, and now they munched on it eagerly as they rested under some trees near a stream. Theon knew this stream, knew it flowed north a bit more and then turned east and if he followed it would pass near a mill and a village and then paths that went to the Kingsroad.

"They are heading to the Kingsroad, following the stream," Farlen said, as if reading Theon's mind. "They are looking for Lord Stark."

Theon could not disagree with him. He knew if Bran and Rickon and the others reached the Stark army first, all would be lost. "We must push on," Theon said impatiently.

"Fuck that," said Werlag, who was a fearsome warrior. Theon drew his sword and then to his surprise Werlag drew his and the other two ironmen drew their weapons as well. Stygg had a battleaxe, and Fishwhisker's son, whose name Theon could not recall at the moment, had a long spear and a short dirk. Wex quickly moved out of the way and Farlen stayed with his dogs as the three ironmen confronted their lord.

"You will do as I command," Theon told them sternly. "We press on until we find them."

"No," retorted Werlag. "This is a fool's chase. It's growing dark, we have little food, and the Stark army is somewhere out there. I will not go to my death because of your stupidity."

For an instant, Theon almost raised his sword and attacked, but then he realized that the three of them could easily kill him. Wex might help him but he knew Farlen would not. And Wex only had a dagger. He was quite handy with it, skilled at throwing and hitting targets, but a dagger was not much use against swords. He might kill or wound one with a lucky throw, but then he would die.

Theon snorted. "Then go. And when I return to the Iron Islands with the Stark boys as my prisoners, you three had best be gone or I will hang all of you."

In the gloom he could see Fishwhisker's son hesitate, his eyes darting about, uncertain, him being the youngest and least battle tested of the three. But Werlag and Stygg were more determined. "You will never come home," said Stygg. "Not if you continue this chase. Come with us…my prince. Let us go back to Winterfell and get our men and then go to Deepwood Motte and sail home before it is too late."

Theon knew Stygg was right but something in his mind would not let him yield to their reasoning. If he did that he would never have their respect again. If they returned to Pyke without the Stark boys, they would say Theon had been hoodwinked by a cripple and a child, and that he ran away like a coward. Even if they did not tell the story, his father would say he was still soft and that would be worse. Theon wanted to kill all three but he could not risk attacking them and perhaps getting a wound. Or worse.

"Be gone then," he said to them in a fierce tone.

"As you wish," said Werlag. As he started to turn to leave, Werlag paused and looked at Wex. "Come, boy. You will die in these lands far from the sea if you go with Prince Theon."

Wex hesitated, looked at Theon. Not you, too? Theon wanted to say to him but then he just nodded. "Go if you wish."

Wex's face seemed to say he was sorry, or maybe in the gloom Theon misread it, but then Wex turned and joined the others and they started walking back the way they come, heading toward Winterfell.

"Cowards," Theon said under his breath as he turned to Farlen. "Come, kennel master, we push on."

Farlen looked like he was about to protest as well but held his tongue. Push on they did, following the stream in the moonlight for a few more hours, but having no luck finding the Starks. The dogs were tiring, Farlen was barely on his feet, and finally Theon could not stay on his feet a minute longer. They stopped and made a fire and ate the last bit of their food. Theon did not trust Farlen while he slept so Theon bound his hands behind his back and tied him to a tree. Farlen protested but Theon could not take any chances. He tied the dogs up as well, to another tree, by their long leather leashes. The dogs were noisy at first, and Theon knew they were hungry, but he had no spare food for them.

Theon slept fitfully on the cold ground and his dreams were filled with death and blood. He thought he heard someone screaming his name once, but it was only a dream. Only when the urge to piss came on him in the morning, did Theon stir. Then he also realized his hands were tied at the wrists with rope. He tried to pull them free but he was bound tight. Theon struggled to his knees, cursing, and then someone spoke to him.

"Good morning, Lord Greyjoy," said a voice Theon did not recognize. As he blinked the sleep from his eyes, he saw a man sitting there, across the embers of the dead fire. It was Ramsey Snow.

Theon shook his head as if to make sure he was not dreaming still and Ramsey laughed. "You did not expect me, did you?"

"Where's Farlen?"

"You mean him?" Ramsey said, and he pointed over his shoulder with a dagger he had in his right hand. Farlen was still tied to the tree, but his throat was slashed open and he was dead, his eyes wide and staring. His dogs sat nearby, whining a bit, and Theon did not know if they were hungry or sad that their master was dead.

"He called for you," Ramsey told Theon. "But then I shut him up."

Theon got to his feet and Ramsey stood as well. Theon tried to reach for his sword but it was gone. Ramsey smiled with his thick lips spread wide. He had Theon's sword strapped to his waist and he also had another sword strapped to his back, the one they had given him back in Winterfell over a week ago when he had been freed. Given to him on Theon's orders. Ramsey was still wearing the clothes he had been released in, and now they were dirty and matted with sweat stains, and he looked like he hadn't bathed in a while either.

"You're my prisoner," said Ramsey as he drew Theon's own sword from its scabbard and pointed it at Theon's chest.

"I set you free," Theon replied, trying to make his voice strong, to claim his fears, fears of being dragged back to Winterfell to face the Starks. "You'd still be in a cell in Winterfell if not for me."

"No doubt," said Ramsey with a snort. "Where were you going? Why the hounds?"

Theon thought to lie, to say they were hunting, but that would make no sense. Theon had a sudden feeling that Ramsey would know if he lied and he also realized there was no point in lying.

"The Stark boys escaped from Winterfell yesterday," he said.

Ramsey laughed. "Some prince you turned out to be, Greyjoy. Let your hostages escape? They'll laugh at you in the Iron Islands for years to come. If there are any of them still left when the North takes its revenge on you ironmen."

"You bring me to Deepwood Motte to my sister, she will ransom me. Gold, silver, whatever you want."

Ramsey seemed to think on this for a moment. "Gold? Silver? A princely ransom for a prince." Then he laughed, but the laugh did not reach his pale eyes which were staring at Theon. "And then the bitch will put a steel sword in my belly the moment you are free. Besides, there is plenty of gold and silver back in the Dreadfort. I am the heir after all. I am Lord Bolton's only son. As for you, you are going to answer for your deeds."

"You best not bring me to Winterfell if you know what's good for you," Theon said, now trying to make him see sense. "Ned Stark won't forget what you did to Lady Hornwood."

"That old whore should be thanking me for letting her know what a man inside her feels like again. As for Ned Stark, if I bring him your head do you think he would forgive me?"

Theon shook his head. "No. He's too hard, too honorable. He'll thank you for my head and then punish you for your crimes."

"Yes, that does sound like Ned Stark. I never met the man but heard enough stories from my father." He then turned and looked at the dogs. "They would make a nice addition to my kennel. Untie them," Ramsey ordered Theon.

Theon didn't do it and spat on the ground. "I freed you! You owe me your life! Give me mine. Let me go!"

Ramsey's face turned into a cruel sneer and stepped over to Theon swiftly and smashed him in the face with the sword's hilt. Theon had no time to duck and the blow staggered him. He fell to the ground, landing hard on his side, unable to put out his hands properly to stop himself. Theon felt a tooth loosen and tasted blood in his mouth.

Ramsey stood over him, the sword pointed at his head. "The next time you disobey me I'll skin you. The Starks won't care for any part of you except your head so I'll leave that be. The rest I'll flay till you beg me to kill you."

Theon knew of the stories about the Boltons of the Dreadfort. Flaying was outlawed in the North, but this bastard of Roose Bolton didn't seem to care much about any laws. He suddenly began to feel afraid. If this maniac would not listen to reason, he was as good as dead, whether by his hand or the Starks.

Theon got to his feet again, spit out some blood, and then after a few moments he had the dogs untied. He grabbed the leather leashes of the dogs and held them tight.

"Now walk," Ramsey said, pointing through the trees with the sword and Theon moved with the dogs in front of him, barking and yapping away, pulling and jerking him along. Theon still had to take a piss, and was thirsty and hungry, but he said nothing as they walked. He knew he had to avoid any more such blows, had to stay strong for when Ramsey made a mistake and Theon could escape. They were soon by the gurgling stream, and Theon realized they were heading downstream, away from Winterfell.

"Where are you taking me?" Theon finally got the nerve to ask.

"There, for now," Ramsey said as he pointed with the sword. Through the forest Theon could just make out a thin column of smoke rising. "You made camp not far from where I was spending the night. I heard your dogs and saw your fire."

Theon now knew where he was. In the darkness he hadn't realized he was so close to the mill and the miller's house. He thought it was farther away. At this point a mill had been built on the stream, and further downstream was a village, also on the stream, and closer to the Kingsroad. Theon thought the Stark boys might find shelter with some villagers, and had hoped to reach it before nightfall but they had not.

As they came closer Theon tried to remember what he knew of the mill. There were a few in the region, built where streams dropped suddenly and flowing water could be harnessed to move the heavy stones that ground the grain. This one was owned by the same family for a long time. The old miller and his wife had died years ago, but his son had taken over and now had a young wife. Suddenly Theon felt a chill. If this bastard had been there last night, what had he done with the miller and his wife?

Theon soon found out. As they came into the clearing near the mill and the small house nearby it, the dogs started barking like mad. They got the scent of blood and Theon saw where it came from. The miller was hanging from a tree, a noose around his neck, his guts open and dangling to the ground. The crows were already at him and he was at least a few days dead, his eyes already gouged out by crows. Farlen's dogs went crazy at the scent of blood, sniffing and yelping and jumping around, and the leash ends leaped from Theon's grasp. As Theon moved to get them back he got a blow to the back of the head which sent him sprawling in the mud.

"I told you to take hold of them dogs!" Ramsey screamed at him. "That's going to cost you some skin!"

Theon saw stars and was slow to get up. "I'm…I'm sorry," he said. "I did not mean it."

"My lord."

Theon got to his feet. Was he calling Theon lord or did he want to be called lord? Ramsey punched him again and down went Theon again and he got his answer.

"You will call me 'my lord' or 'Lord Bolton'. Do you understand?" Ramsey said, his voice eerily calm now.

"Yes…my lord."

"Good. Now get those dogs."

Theon got to his feet and swiftly rounded up the dogs. The stench from the dead man was appalling and Theon would have gagged if he had had any food in his stomach.

"Tie them up over by the mill," Ramsey ordered. Theon took the dogs and tied them to a post, a difficult task with his hands tied and his fingers close together.

After he was finished Ramsey ordered him into the miller's house, set to the side of the mill. Inside they entered a kitchen area with a small table, a basin of water, one cupboard and a large fireplace, the fire burning low. Hanging over the fire was a pot of something that smelled good. A loaf of bread was on the table. Theon's stomach grumbled at the sight of food. Two doors led off from the kitchen. He went to sit at the table but Ramsey kicked him hard in the upper left leg and he fell to the floor, landing in a corner, his leg in agony.

"Did I tell you to sit?" Ramsey growled.

"No…my lord," Theon gasped as he rubbed his leg with his tied hands.

"The floor is good enough for you."

Theon lay there, his leg throbbing, as Ramsey sat at the table and ate some stew from the pot and ate some bread and drank some ale that was in a flagon. The whole time he said nothing. He was a sloppy eater, and ate fast. Theon's stomach grumbled again and he badly needed to use the privy.

"My lord?"

Ramsey glared at him. "What?"

"I need the privy, my lord"

"Piss yourself for all I care."

Theon said nothing and concentrated on holding in his piss. Then he heard the woman.

At first it was whimper, then a slow moan, coming from behind one of the doors. "Shut up whore!" Ramsey shouted. No more sounds came from there. "Bitch just won't shut up." Then he grinned. "Now we have a few dogs, maybe she'll give us some sport."

"Sport…my lord?"

"I've got a nice set of bitches back at the Dreadfort," Ramsey told him, leaning back in his chair, belching loudly. "Set them after some whore who done me wrong. Run her to ground, they do. If they give me good sport I have my way and then kill them quick. If not, then I flay them while they still live."

Theon now knew he was being held by a madman. The words of Maester Luwin came back to him: never trust this one, he will stab you in the back. Now Theon was ruing not listening to the maester. Whatever possessed him to free Ramsey from that cell?

"You ever see someone get flayed, Greyjoy?" Ramsey continued, his thick lips spread in a grin. "No, suppose not. You ironmen drown people or give them the sword. And your people are supposed to be so hard? Ned Stark is merciful to his enemies and criminals alike. My father says he cuts off the head himself, quick and with little pain. Flaying though, that is how you make people fear you, make them know to stay in line and do as you say. My father's fathers knew the truth of that. You'd scream and beg for death and tell all you knew if someone flayed you."

Theon gulped. "Yes, my lord."

Ramsey smiled suddenly and it was a sickening grin. "Time for some fun." He stood and went to the door where the woman was. He opened the door and the woman screamed. Theon hear the sound of a slap.

"Shut your mouth you filthy whore!" Ramsey shouted and there was another scream and more shouts.

Theon knew he had to get up, had to run, now, while Ramsey was distracted. He was on his feet and out the door in a moment, running, past the dead man, toward the forest, and then…he heard shouts behind him, running steps, and Theon's leg throbbed, and his belly was empty, and his strength was failing him and then he was tackled from behind and hit the ground hard. Ramsey pressed down on Theon's head and buried his face in the mud of the mill yard.

"That will cost you some skin!" Ramsey snarled in his ear. Then Theon felt a heavy blow to the back of his head and he saw no more.

How much time had passed he did not know, but it was still daylight when he awoke. His head throbbed, and there was an awful stench. His arms ached and he soon realized why. He was hanging by his arms from a thick rope, hanging from the tree, the same tree where the crows were still picking at the corrupted flesh of the dead miller.

Theon soon realized his legs were tied together as well and his boots were off, as were his socks. Ramsey was there, looking up at him, an evil look in his eyes. In his hands he had a knife.

"Good, you're awake," he said. "Now you will know pain." Ramsey grabbed Theon's feet and held them tight as he brandished the knife. Theon twisted and struggled and then he felt a sharp pain in his left foot.

"No…my lord, no! I won't run away again…I beg you….AARRRRRGGGHHH!" and Theon's mind went ablaze with pain, pain he had never felt before as the knife dug into the flesh on the middle toe on his left foot. Then Ramsey gave a jerk and more blinding pain came and then Ramsey let go of his legs.

"Gods, you pissed yourself," Ramsey said as turned back to look at Theon, holding up a scrap of bloody flesh in his hand. "You stink almost as bad as Reek did."

Theon had pissed himself, unable to control his bladder anymore as the pain engulfed him, but he cared not, the agony in his foot driving him mad.

"Stop…stop…" he managed to blubber as spittle came out of his mouth. "My lord," he squeaked out last.

"Oh, I will stop…for now," said Ramsey. "I figure a few more days of this, and there might be still enough left of you to present to Lord Stark. And if you die, well, your head is all he really wants."

Then Ramsey dropped the scrap of flesh on the ground. Theon's toe throbbed and ached and it was such agony he felt tears falling down his cheeks and he sobbed. Ramsey heard the sob and laughed.

"Good," he said. "Feel the pain, you traitor. I have no love for the Starks and they have none for me I am sure. But you are a turncoat and a backstabber and a traitor. Chasing the Stark boys? Only one reason for that, to take them hostage to your homelands. Lord Stark will knight me for this, for certain."

"He…he can't…he's…not a knight…," Theon said. But Ramsey hadn't heard him. He had walked over to the hounds, still tied up. The hounds were chewing on some bones and for a moment Theon had the crazy thought that Ramsey had fed the woman to them. But no, he soon found out that Ramsey had to have his sport with her first. Ramsey petted the dogs and then went into the house. A few moments later he came out with a blue dress in his hand and approached the hounds. He held it under their noses and the hounds sniffed, and started yelping and leaping around and Ramsey untied them.

"GO!" he shouted at the hounds. "Find the bitch, bitches!"

The hounds ran and started running through the forest and were soon lost from sight. Ramsey started to go after them but stopped and looked at Theon first. "Don't go anywhere while I'm gone. She's only got a half hour head start, so I won't be too long." And then with a demented grin he went after the hounds.

As soon as he was gone Theon began to think on how to escape, but his arms were tied tight together and were tied to a branch overhead. His arms felt like they would pop out of their shoulder sockets at any moment. He tried to pull his hand through the ropes, but it did no good except to chaff his wrists raw. He next tried to bounce up and down and swing from side to side to break the branch he was tied to but it was thick and would not even bend. The stench from the dead man hanging nearby gagged Theon but it was not bad enough to make him forget the agony in his foot.

Theon Greyjoy was not a godly man, despite accepting his uncle Damphair's blessing of the Drowned God with the ceremony of salt water poured on his face back on Pyke before he sailed. He did not care for the old gods or the Seven either. Oh, he had been raised by the Starks to follow the Seven, Lady Stark demanding he join her children in worshiping her faith if he was going to be among them. But he always thought it was a pile of nonsense, for weak willed women and men who feared their fate.

Now Theon Greyjoy feared his fate and he did pray. He prayed to the Drowned God and the Seven and the old gods and asked for forgiveness for his sins and for salvation from his pain. How could he have gone from being a man who killed other men, who had almost fought the Kingslayer himself, to a whimpering coward who pissed his pants and begged the gods to save him in such a short time? What kind of monster was Ramsey Snow? Theon prayed for someone or something to release him from his torment.

He did not have to wait long. Not thirty minutes after Ramsey left, Theon heard the soft clop of a horse coming up the wide path that ran from the nearby village to the mill along the bank of the stream. Theon twisted his body until he could see a single draft horse pulling a wagon with an old man on the seat holding the reins. He wore the rough clothes of a farmer and had thick white hair and a large beard. The wagon stopped as the driver saw what had happened at the mill.

"May the Seven preserve me!" said the old driver and then he jumped down from his wagon with a stout cudgel in his hands. A long knife was tucked into his belt as well. He cautiously approached the tree.

"Help me!" Theon managed to squeak out, the agony in his foot making him gasp and almost cry again.

The old man pulled the long knife off of his belt, but he could not reach high enough to cut the rope so he ran to the house and brought out a chair and stood on it and did the job. With a thud Theon hit the ground and he cried in pain as his injured foot hit the ground. Then the old man cut the miller down as well. Theon rolled away from the blood on the ground and then sat up. As the old man cut the ropes on Theon's hands and around his legs, he spoke rapidly.

"What happened here? Where's Leslie?" the old man asked Theon.

"Who…the miller's wife?" Theon asked.

"Aye," said the man.

"She ran...he chased her…not thirty minutes ago."

"Who chased her?"

"Ramsey Snow, the Bastard of the Dreadfort."

"Seven preserve her," the old man wailed. "We must go save her."

"NO!" Theon said, terror in his eyes as well as his voice. "We must get away before he comes back. You can't save her! He is well armed and has hounds and he will kill her and he will kill us if he returns."

The old man helped Theon up and looked at him. "Who are you? I think…now I know you. Greyjoy? Lord Stark's ward?"

Theon hesitated. Could they know what I did at Winterfell? Had word leaked out somehow? "Aye," Theon said. "I'm Theon Greyjoy. I came back north…and…who are you?"

"Flint, Caster Flint," the old man said and now Theon knew him. He had a farm nearby and sometimes Theon and Robb and others would stop for a bite and a pint of ale as they were hunting. "I was bringing a load of wheat for grinding," continued Flint. "And… heavens, the miller is dead."

"Look," Theon began, his voice trembling. "We have to go! We have to go!"

Flint's eyes turned hard. "Aye, to the village to get more men to find Leslie and this bastard and hang him!"

"No!" Theon tried to say but Flint had already started for his wagon and Theon tried to hobble after him but then his foot blazed in pain and he fell. Flint turned around and helped Theon up and looked at his bare bloody foot.

"What did he do to you?" Flint asked as his eyes widened.

Theon now looked for the first time and saw a long red gash on the middle toe of his left foot, the flesh exposed to almost the bone, blood still seeping out. "He…he…flayed me," Theon gasped and Flint cursed.

"We'll get him, not to worry," Flint said. "I'll send someone to Winterfell to get help. Did Lord Robb come home as well?"

"No," Theon replied. "He's still south."

"We been hearing rumors that Lord Stark was set free and made the peace with the Lannisters. The Starks and our men are coming home."

"Aye, mostly true. But now they are stuck at Moat Cailin," lied Theon.

"Stuck?"

"Ironmen," Theon told him. "They took it."

Flint stared at him. "Aye…ironmen. Your folk."

"Aye,…my folk," said Theon and then he knew he had to do it, that he had no choice and it had to be now while the old man was close to him. Theon swiftly reached for the knife on old Flint's belt and in a heartbeat he had it out and buried in Flint's chest. The old man gasped in surprise as the blood welled out and then he shuddered and fell to the ground, letting out a long groan.

As he lay dieing Theon took the knife out. "I'm sorry. I will say a prayer to the Seven for your soul, to thank you for helping me. But I can't let you go to tell anyone I was here. I can't let you go to Winterfell. I did not kill the miller. Ramsey Snow did it and he tortured me as well."

But Flint did not reply, and by now his eyes were glassy and he was soon dead. Theon move as swiftly as his injured foot would allow. He went to the house first and found some fresh clothes of the miller's that fit well. He got out of his urine and blood stained clothing and dressed quickly. Theon also took off his woolen surcoat with the kraken sigil and stuffed it in the fireplace, which now blazed up again as the surcoat burned. Theon found the miller's heavy winter coat in the house. This he put on top of his coat of chain mail. He also found a floppy traveling hat and that would help hide his face and keep the rain off his head.

Next he found a burlap sack and stuffed in it whatever food he could find. There was a large loaf of bread, some cheese, apples, carrots, onions, a few clay containers of strawberry and blueberry jam, some dried fish, and a bit of salt pork in a barrel. He grabbed a skin of wine as well and filled an empty skin with water from the stream.

Then he soaked his damaged foot in the stream and let the cold water ease his pain somewhat. After that he poured a bit of wine on the bare flesh and wrapped the toe up in some strips of cloth, Then he pulled on his socks and then his boots, the left one causing him fits of agony as the boot went on. In moments he had the horse out of the harness. It was not a palfrey or a war horse, but Theon knew he could never walk far on his injured foot so the draft horse would have to do. The wagon had nothing in it but a load of wheat kernels set for grinding, as old Flint had said. Theon took Flint's cudgel and knife and then, without another moment to waste, he mounted the horse and started to head back towards Winterfell.

He rode and rode, urging on his mount, and as he got farther away he began to calm down a bit, knowing Ramsey could never catch up to him now. His toe throbbed and he even had the crazy notion of cutting the damn thing off to lessen the pain but he soon let that idea go from his mind. After a bit he crossed the stream and came across hunting trails he knew and then, slowly, he began to veer to the northwest and towards other paths that would take him to Deepwood Motte. Black Lorren and the rest at Winterfell were on their own.

It took a week of riding, moving on little traveled ways, avoiding the few villages and hunter's lodges in the Wolfswood. Theon had been back and forth to Deepwood Motte twice with Lord Stark, so he had a vague notion of the way. And his hunter's instincts and years of traveling in these woods had honed his survival skills. He had the Starks to thank for that. Any true ironman would most likely perish in these woods, far from the familiar sea. But not Theon Greyjoy. He knew his father was right. He had more in common with the people of the greenlands now than the iron born.

Theon made no fires, and slept in shelters he made each night from tree branches, cutting down more branches for his mattress and pulling more branches and leaves on top along with the winter coat for warmth. He rationed his food and it lasted most of the trip, but by the last days he was feeling a bit lightheaded from lack of food. He cursed his luck not to have a bow and arrows because he saw many rabbits and quail on the trip. He thought to fashion one for himself from a nice springy sapling but he had no string for it. One day he did find some bird's eggs in a nest in a low tree branch, which he ate raw, a very good addition to his food supplies.

He also heard wolves at night and saw one during the day once, but wolves are usually skittish around people and avoid them, unless they have a taste for human flesh. The Wolfswood was named for them, but in all of Theon's years at Winterfell he had heard only one story where a wolf of the area had attacked people.

Theon's chaffed wrists healed slowly and the bruises and lumps on his face and head also healed. But the toe would not and the pain in the toe never went away. Each night before he slept he checked it and it was festering and growing red and then black on the edges and soon his toe was turning black. He knew he would lose it, but he had no time to stop for a few days let it heal properly. He washed it and poured wine on it, but it did no good.

It rained on three of the seven days and Theon got wet but he kept going, not stopping for anything. He knew the Starks might be home by now, and he knew they would be looking for him and Bran and Rickon. They would have his head in a heartbeat. Even going back to Pyke held no special joys for him now. He had failed, had won half a victory only. Worse, he had abandoned his men and that would follow him the rest of his days.

On the seventh day in the late afternoon he finally saw people, and could not avoid them, as he approached the edge of the Glover lands nearby Deepwood Motte. He passed through a few villages but no one stopped him or talked to him. They seemed frightened of something and after the third village he found out why. Ahead of him on what passed for a road came a group of ten heavily armed men on horseback. They had the kraken sigil on their surcoats and demanded Theon stop.

"Who are you and where are you to?" demanded their leader.

Theon did not recognize any of them. He pulled off his hat. "I need have words with my sister."

The leader, a fierce looking man with a bald head and a full beard, grunted. "Sister? Who is she? Some whore? Maybe I fucked her already." The ironmen all laughed and Theon bristled and was about to shout at them when a new voice spoke.

"If you had tried to fuck his sister you might be cockless by now," said the voice behind the men and there, coming up the road on foot, was Dagmer Cleftjaw.

"Dagmer," Theon said, almost a shout of joy. He had not expected to see his old mentor again, had not even expected he was alive. He slid from his horse but he did it too quickly and landed badly on the left foot. He could not help but groan in pain and he fell. In a moment Dagmer was by his side.

"He's taken a wound! Help him, you damn idiots!" he swore to the other men. Soon two more were there and they helped Theon up.

"My lord," Dagmer said. "Where are you hurt?"

"My left foot…" Theon gasped, as the two men held him up.

"Lord?" spat the leader of the troop of men on horseback. "Who the fuck is he?"

Dagmer snarled at them. "This is Theon Greyjoy…your king."

Theon's head was light, from the hunger in his belly and the pain in his foot. Had he heard Dagmer right? "King? No…my father is king."

Dagmer shook his head and his face held a sad look. "It grieves me to tell you, Theon. But your father died on Pyke more than two weeks past. A great storm cast him down from a foot bridge and he died on the rocks below the castle. They never found his body. The sea took him."

Theon looked at the other men. "It's true,…my lord," said the leader.

"Asha…I must speak with Asha," Theon gasped. "Take me to her."

They helped him mount his horse and Dagmer got on it with him, behind him, and they rode one way as the other men continued in the opposite direction with what Theon guessed was a patrol of some sort. Dagmer told him much and more as they rode to the great wooden fort of Deepwood Motte.

"I was just visiting a nearby woman," Dagmer said with a laugh. "Lucky for you."

Then Theon asked about Torrens Square and Dagmer told him how the northmen came at them on horseback and his men had cracked and ran. Dagmer rallied them and they held for a while, fighting and retreating, fighting and retreating, and were saved only by the fall of darkness. They had no choice but head for the Wolfswood and Deepwood Motte as their retreat to the west and the sea was cut off.

"How many made it here?" Theon asked, dreading the answer.

"But five and ten," Dagmer said ruefully. "And how fared things at Winterfell?"

"We took it."

"We heard. Then what?"

Theon snorted. "No one came to help us. How many men does Asha have here?"

"Almost one thousand, in the fort, and in the villages, like that bunch that found you."

"Bitch," Theon cursed. "She could have sent me one hundred men and we'd still hold Winterfell!

"No, Theon. She did right. We cannot hold Winterfell, so far from the sea. We might not be able to hold the Motte, and the sea is only five leagues away. What news of the Stark army?"

"Moat Cailin fell to them," Theon replied and that was news to Dagmer.

"When?"

"Must be more than two weeks by now."

"Starks must be in Winterfell by now."

"Aye," said Theon.

"Where are your men?" Dagmer asked next, another question Theon did not want to answer, but knew he must make some account for them. And this was Dagmer, who had known him since he was a boy, he helped him learn to fight. He decided to tell him the truth, all of it, about the attack, and the Stark boys running, and his orders to Black Lorren, and being abandoned by his three men and Wex. And then the rest of it came out in a tumble, Theon telling him how he was beaten and his skin flayed by Ramsey Snow, and how he escaped. Dagmer cursed loudly. "Snow will pay for that. Some day he will pay."

"Have any of my men made it here?" Theon asked.

"None. Did they sack Winterfell at least?"

"I am sure Black Lorren did not fail to do that." But he really wasn't sure.

A short time later the sun set as they came through farmers' fields to the large wooden fort on a low oval shaped hill that was the seat of House Glover. Before long Theon was reunited with his sister in the great hall. Many of her men were there, feasting at the evening meal, and when Theon and the Cleftjaw came in, Theon hobbling with his left hand on the Cleftjaw's right shoulder for support, a sudden silence filled the hall.

"Theon," Asha said in surprise as she saw him. Asha had been sitting in the seat of honor and now stood, a cup of ale still in her hand. Her face was full of concern and she saw that he was travel worn and wounded. For a moment he thought she would run to him, hug him, and Theon wanted that more than anything else right now. But then her face hardened.

"Where are your men?" she demanded.

He could not say he had abandoned them, not in front of this crowd. "We got separated. They are dead or prisoners by now, if they did not make it here."

She stared at him. "So, you lost them?"

"Yes," he said quietly and she just shook her head in disdain.

"Where is the Stark army now?"

"Moat Cailin fell a few weeks ago, so they must be in Winterfell by now," Theon quickly said. That news brought plenty of curses from the men at the tables.

"And Winterfell? What did you do to it?" Asha asked him.

"Sacked," Theon lied. Well, it might be sacked by now, he did not know. He was sure Black Lorren would do his duty.

"What of that which was taken from us?" Asha asked next. "What about our revenge for our dead brothers…brother?"

"I…I lost them," Theon admitted, suddenly feeling like he did when his father had confronted him when he first returned to Pyke so many weeks ago, like a small boy being scolded for his errors.

Asha snorted in derision and raised her tankard "A toast," she said aloud. "To the Prince of Winterfell!"

Her men all started laughing and then drank to her toast. Theon felt his face grow hot and all his anger boiled up and he directed it at Asha.

"YOU FUCKING BITCH! I AM YOUR KING!"

The silence after that was total. Asha drank from her tankard and then slammed it on the table. She glared at Theon. "Cleftjaw's news is old, brother. Father is dead…that is true, and it grieves my soul as it does yours, I am sure. But no one is king of the Iron Islands…yet."

"I am the heir!" Theon said, less confident now than a moment ago.

"Yes…you are heir," Asha said. "But others are challenging your right."

"What others?" Theon demanded to know.

"Our uncles."

"Victarion? The Damphair?"

"The Damphair…no. Victarion, yes. As his first act to prove his worth we heard he went south with the Iron Fleet to raid the Lannister lands and the Reach."

"You said 'uncles'," Theon said next, ignoring the news about Victorian's raiding. "If not the Damphair, then who? Surely not the Reader."

"Not him, no. You forget we have four uncles. Euron Crow's Eye lives and has returned, brother, the very day our father died if you can believe it. And he is claiming the Seastone Chair and the driftwood crown for himself. Crow's Eye is already calling himself king, not caring for your claim. The Damphair has called for a kingsmoot and many of the captains are supporting him."

A kingsmoot. It was a term from another age, Theon knew, half remembering some maester's history lesson when he was a child, before the Stark's took him. A kingsmoot was a summoning of all the captains of the long ships to pick a new king.

"Then I must go there at once," Theon said loudly. "And claim what is mine by birthright."

Asha snorted again. "And who would want you for their king, brother?"

Now Theon grew angry again. "The Seastone Chair is mine by right!"

"Then you will have to fight for it," she told him. "If anyone will fight for you after losing all your men at Winterfell and failing to get the Stark boys."

Theon said nothing, knowing she was right. She sat again and then the hall was filled with the noise of men eating and drinking and talking, all of them ignoring Theon.

Theon stood there looking like a fool. He looked about the hall and saw no friendly faces there. They were Asha's men, had fought with her for years, knew her and some perhaps even loved her and had lain with her. But they were not his men. He had no men. Those he had were now dead. They were never really his, either, and had only followed him because his father had told them to. He had only one loyal supporter, who Theon was now leaning on.

"Come, my king," said Dagmer Cleftjaw. "Let's have the maester look at that toe."

He lost the toe, and was lucky not to lose any others or the foot. For three days he lay in bed recovering, and the Cleftjaw came to him daily and made sure the Glover maester was caring for him. Asha did not see him even once. Finally, he rose from his sick bed on the fourth morning and with the help of a wooden crutch he went looking for her. He found her in the bed chambers of Lord Glover, just dressing for the day.

"How is the foot?" she asked as he hobbled in, talking as if they had not fought and she had not seen him for three days.

"Better," Theon said. It was true now that the toe was cut off. He might walk oddly for the rest of his life, but he still had his life, unlike those men he took to Winterfell.

"Sit," she said, pointing to a chair as she sat on the bed and faced her brother.

Theon sat and he got right to the point, deciding not to be angry at her, needing to talk to her on many things. "Who will you support in the kingsmoot?"

"First, tell me everything that happened at Winterfell. The truth, Theon. All of it."

And so he told her, all of it, down to being captured by Ramsey and being tortured and then killing the man who saved him. As he told her all this her face grew grim and she cursed a few times. And then he confessed to running here, without even going back for his men in Winterfell.

She shook her head and stared at him. "Theon…what possessed you to take Winterfell in the first place? You had no orders to do so. You were supposed to just raid the Stony Shore."

A good question and he knew the answer. "I had to show Father I was not soft…that I was iron born."

She sighed. "Now that does not matter anymore."

"No," Theon said and they were silent for a few moments. "Dagmer says they could not find his body."

"The sea took it," she answered. "At least he died where he should have."

For some reason Theon felt no sadness at his father's death. He had not seen him for almost ten years and when he had returned home his father had scorned him and belittled him. His death had only one meaning for Theon. The Seastone Chair was vacant. And his father's brothers meant to deny it to Theon.

"Has there been any other news?" Theon asked.

"All I know is that Euron sailed into Pyke the very next morning after our father died. He and his crew took over at Pyke, and Euron claimed he was the new king of the Iron Islands. Word reached the Damphair and he began preaching about a kingsmoot. I am sure he knows full well you might still be alive, but a kingsmoot he called for and his followers spread the word. Victarion almost immediately raised anchor and sailed south, claiming he would sink the Lannister fleet, and raid the Reach."

"Why? To prove…what?"

"That he is iron born!" Asha said in a fierce tone. "He will raid and plunder and come back with gold and thralls and show the captains at the kingsmoot that he is fit to be their ruler! And what will you bring them? Nothing but your failures."

"So you will not support me," Theon said, knowing it was true before she even spoke. "If not me, then who will you support? Victarion? Euron? Some other pretender?" He said the last word with as much contempt as he could muster.

"I will support myself," Asha replied and at first Theon could not believe she was saying it, thought it was a jest, but it was said without a hint of mirth.

"You? You're a woman!"

"So? Where does it say a woman cannot be the ruler of the Iron Islands?"

"Every captain will spit on your name!" Theon told her. "Or worse, our uncles will kill you!"

"As they might very well kill you!" she shot back. "Don't think they won't, Theon. You have been gone too long. They don't know you or care about you or your claim! Nobody knows you. Dagmer has told me what happened on the road here, how the men on patrol did not even know who you were. I saw you look at my men in the great hall and I am sure you knew not but a few of those men."

"I did not," Theon admitted.

"There is only one thing to do, brother. Renounce your claim. Support mine."

Theon shook his head. "It will get you killed. And renouncing my claim will not stay the hands of Euron or Victarion or others who seek power. You are right. They will hunt me and kill me. They know that many people will say I am the true king as Balon Greyjoy's only surviving son. As long as I live I am a danger to them." All this he had thought on many times as he had lain in bed for three days.

"Not if we get there first," Asha replied, excitement in her eyes. "Victarion is raiding, the Crow's Eye is fresh returned and still gathering support. The Damphair…he will support us...maybe. Many of our family will as well, especially our mother's family. And so will most of the people. We are the children of their dead king. We have the right."

"I have the right!" Theon almost shouted.

"And I have the men…the men to get you there and the men to fight our uncles and bring more to our side."

"That…that will mean civil war in the Iron Islands."

"If it must be, it must be. We renounce the kingsmoot, claim it is not just as an heir still lives. If they go ahead with it, if our uncles force it to convene, and if the kingsmoot selects one of our uncles, as I am sure it will, he will order us dead with his first decree. And if we run, they will find us, or the Starks will or the Lannisters. We have enemies everywhere! Our only chance is to return to our home and fight for what is ours. If I must die then I will die fighting for what is mine with steel in my hand and blood on its blade!"

Theon knew she was right. He could not stay in the North, and he could not return to a peaceful home. Everywhere someone wanted him dead. He had to fight.

"If I join you, and we win, who will rule?" he asked his sister.

"We rule jointly. King and Queen of the Iron Islands. Equal in all things."

Was she mad? How could it work? He suddenly had many questions. "And whose children will be heirs?"

She laughed. "Theon, we have a throne to win yet. Such details can wait till later."

"No…we shall settle them before we go."

"There is no time," she said, now more serious. "Our patrols in the forest have seen the first signs of a force coming towards us from Winterfell."

Theon knew who that was. "Lord Glover, returning to claim his seat."

"Yes," she said. "But he will find nothing but ashes when he gets here. We have four long ships on the coast, not five leagues distance from here. Are you with me?"

After a moment Theon nodded, knowing he had few other options, all of them bad. "Aye," he said, like the men of the north. "When do we leave?"

"Today, with the tide," Asha said, a fierceness now in her eyes as she stood from the bed and crossed over to him. "Then we sail home and take what is ours…brother." And then she hugged him and for all her hard demeanor she was still a woman, and she was warm and soft and for the first time in a long time, Theon Greyjoy felt he truly belonged somewhere.


	41. Chapter 41 Catelyn

**Ned Stark Lives! Chapter 41 Catelyn**

Catelyn Stark looked at the sept of Winterfell with anger in her heart. The doors had been beaten off the hinges, the wooden statues of the Seven had been knocked down and hacked at with axes and burnt, and the altars by each statue had been desecrated with blood and other foulness. The ironmen had done all they could to show they had no love or respect for the Seven. They had even drowned the septon, and for that above all Catelyn felt a burning anger.

With her were her charges, Robb's wife Roslin, Jeyne Poole, the orphaned daughter of the dead steward of Winterfell, Sansa and Arya, her daughters, Rickon, her youngest son, the two Frey boys, Big and Little Walder, Howland Reed's two children, Meera and Jojen, and finally the blacksmith's apprentice, Gendry. They were all dressed in working clothes, old dresses and breeches and shirts, ready to do their part to help clean up the damage left by the ironmen.

"Where do we start, Mother?" Sansa asked.

Catelyn sighed heavily. "I…I don't know." As soon as she said it she knew it was wrong, that she shouldn't say that in front of them, that she had to know what to do. She was in charge here, her husband and eldest son Robb and the steward Samson busy with supervising the rebuilding of the Winterfell town before winter came. The carpenters and most of the men of Winterfell and the remaining army soldiers were with them, leaving it to smaller parties of woman and children to take care of cleaning inside the castle, doing what they could. They had been home only a few days, Roose Bolton and his men just leaving the day before, and the clean up was barely started. First, Catelyn and her charges and many servants had cleaned the living quarters in the Great Keep. Then they helped with the damage done in the great hall. After that they set to making the stables fit for the horses. Carpenters were already repairing the roofs of the stables and the great hall. Finally, Catelyn decided the sept was next in priority.

Gendry walked over to the wooden statute of the Father and looked at it closely. "Can it be repaired?" Catelyn asked him.

He shook his head. "I'm no carpenter, my lady, but I think not. The sept will need new ones. All of them."

She knew he was right, as she looked at the other statues, all hacked and slashed and burned. "Then the first thing we should do is take the statues outside."

The statues were not overly large or heavy, so with two or three of them on each one they managed to lift or drag them outside, and lay them in a pile. Catelyn said a small prayer to them, and then she looked at her charges.

"Fetch hot water, lye, and mops and scrub brushes," she said to them and soon they were back with sloshing buckets, and cleaning implements, and bent to the task of removing the soot and blood from the sept. As they worked Catelyn thought on what to do next.

She had to have a new septon, and a new septa, if such people could be found in the North and were willing to come to Winterfell. The people of the North clung to their old gods, but the Seven were also worshiped, though at times Catelyn felt she was the only one in her family who really believed. Her children had all been brought up in her faith, but they had also known their father's faith, and had prayed with him in the godswood under the heart tree. Catelyn and Eddard had been married in the light of the Seven but in his heart he belonged to the old gods and always would. Robb followed his father in most things and in this as well. She knew Sansa believed in the Seven, at least before she left Winterfell. But after all that had happened in the south she wondered if she still believed. Arya had always been indifferent to prayer, and had hated her lessons with Septa Mordane, wanting to run off and study with Maester Luwin and the boys. Bran…she did not know if he ever believed, and if he did would he still think the gods were watching him after all he had been through. And Rickon was too young to know what the gods even were.

Catelyn looked over at Roslin and knew she followed the Seven as did her cousins. Jeyne was a daughter of the North, but she and her father had always been at prayers in the sept. As for the Reed children, she did not know what gods they followed in their swampy home. Gendry she was not sure about as well.

"Do you follow the old gods or the new?" she asked him as he stood by the two heavy doors, looking at the metal hinges to see if they could be repaired or needed to be replaced.

"The new, my lady," Gendry answered. "I am a smith, after all."

She had to smile at that answer. Arya had said something similar at the Twins when Catelyn had argued with her about Gendry. That seemed so long ago. Now he almost seemed like a part of the family. Catelyn had slowly let go of her anger at him for having eyes for her daughter. She knew it was not because of him, or his age difference with Arya, or his trade, but because of what he was, of how he was born, and what he represented. She knew it was not his fault, and was really the fault of Robert Baratheon if anyone, yet she could not help but be angry. Then slowly, as they journeyed home, with her husband's prodding, and with Arya's almost pleading, she had begun to accept him. It helped that he had saved Arya's life, that he had helped them defeat the ironmen, that he had been there for them when they needed him to be. And Arya…the way she looked at him, followed him everywhere, talked about him…it had to be love, despite her age. Everything Catelyn had said about the kind of man she wanted Arya to marry was true of Gendry as well.

As she thought this she looked over at the two Frey boys, laughing as they splashed water on each other as Roslin scolded them to work and not play. They could not let the Frey boys know about Arya and Gendry. Roslin already knew, Robb had said, and promised to say nothing to her kin. Catelyn had already warned Arya and she had promised to do nothing to cause suspicion. As far as the Frey boys and the rest of the castle knew, Gendry was just an apprentice smith who Lord Stark had brought to serve at Winterfell. Catelyn hoped it stayed that way.

It took them a few hours to clean the sept, and by then Gendry had gone off to repair the hinges for the doors. Soon after they had all returned the buckets and mops and washed their hands and faces it was time for lunch. After that the children had lessons with Maester William. Thinking of the new maester brought forth another thing that still hurt, the death of Maester Luwin, a wound only a few days old and still fresh and raw. He had always been at Winterfell, had been there when she had first arrived, had pulled her five children from her womb, had made sure they had all lived in those dangerous first years of life, had healed the people of Winterfell when they were hurt, had taught her children all he knew, and had given sage advice when asked for by her and her husband, and even her sons when trouble had come calling.

As she thought on him as they walked away from the sept, Catelyn looked to the sky and the heavens and said another small prayer for him and all those who died at the hands of the ironmen.

Today the sky was overcast and hinting at rain but it had not started yet. As they walked to the great hall, Arya fell in step with her mother behind the others. "Can I ask you something, Mother?"

"Of course, my daughter."

Arya hesitated, as if afraid to ask, and then spoke quickly. "I…I was wondering if Gendry could take lessons with us?"

That surprised Catelyn. "Why do you ask?"

Arya now seemed embarrassed, and looked down as she talked, speaking quietly, maybe afraid the others ahead of them would hear. "He never had lessons like we do. I mean, he knows about money and sums and how to make a helmet and a sword and all that but…he can't read or write."

"Oh," Catelyn said. She hadn't really thought on this before. Now that she knew it made sense. Gendry had been an apprentice and learned a smith's trade where writing and reading were not a high priority. But she also knew he could not take lessons with the other children, for many reasons.

"Arya, won't it look odd if he takes lessons with the rest of you?"

"Just because he is not highborn?" Arya asked and the way she said it sounded like she was mad.

"There is that, as you well know," Catelyn told her daughter in a sharp tone. "And before you argue that he really is highborn, remember that I know who his father was, and so do you, but you can't tell anyone who he really is, not even the maester."

Arya nodded. "I know you're right. It's just not fair."

Catelyn sighed. "It is not, but there it is, and there is naught we can do about it. Also, he is quite busy with his work. There is much that needs to be repaired or replaced that needs his hammer at the forge."

"I know. I just want him to learn," Arya said in frustration.

Catelyn could only think of one solution to this. "Then you must teach him."

"Me? I'm not a maester or septa," Arya said in surprise.

Catelyn stopped and Arya stopped as well as the others ran ahead to the great hall. "Arya…if you want him to learn, you must do this. He cannot join you at lessons with the maester. The Frey boys cannot know we are treating him…special. They will ask too many questions and we can't have that."

Arya nodded. "I understand. I'll…I'll try…if he lets me."

"You have not spoken to him on this yet?"

"Yes, but he's kind of stubborn. He says he doesn't need it for his trade. But…I want him to learn. I don't want a…I mean…for the future, for…I just want him to learn."

Catelyn knew what she wanted. "Because you want a man who can read and write?"

Arya blushed and chewed her bottom lip and looked down. "Aye," she said quietly.

Catelyn put her hand under her chin, lifted it up and looked at her daughter and spoke in a serious tone. "If you want this, you must work for it. You must make him agree, and you must teach him. Discreetly."

Arya grinned. "I will try."

"Good. Come, let us eat before the Frey boys gobble our share as well."

The great hall was full already, with the benches crowded with hungry people, each table piled high with food, and everyone was digging in. Already at the high table sat Ned and Robb and the Greatjon. Her husband and oldest son looked sweaty and grimy as did most of the other men. Bran was here as well, sitting at the low table closest to the high table, with Hodor sitting across from him. Hodor was also dirty, his great strength useful for many heavy tasks, but Bran was clean, his condition making him unable to help with the work. Catelyn's heart was still filled with grief for what had happened to her son, and filled with anger at the Lannisters who took the best part of his life from him. Every night she said a special prayer for Bran to get better. She also prayed that Jaime and Cersei Lannister would meet some horrible end and die in pain. So far none of her prayers had come true.

Bran had asked if he could spend the morning in the maester's chambers. When Catelyn had asked him why he had said he wanted to read. After Maester William had agreed, and Bran had promised not to bother him if he was busy, Hodor had taken Bran to the maester's tower. Now at the table Bran had a book with him, opened by his side while he ate. Soon the other children who had helped Catelyn clean up the sept joined him and Hodor, except Roslin, who as the wife of the heir of Winterfell took a seat at the high table next to Robb. She also saw Gendry at another table in the back with Mikken and the other apprentice smiths.

"What are you reading now?" Sansa asked Bran as she poured water from a clay flagon into cups for everyone. The Frey boys were already grabbing bread and digging into bowls of soup.

"About the plants of Westeros," Bran answered his sister.

Little Walder looked up from his soup and rolled his eyes. "Why study when you don't have to?"

"So my brain can grow bigger," Bran said with half a smirk. "You should try it sometimes."

The other children snickered and Little Walder was unsure if had been insulted or not and then realized he had been and glared at Bran.

"That's enough reading for now," Catelyn said to Bran. "Eat your lunch."

"Yes, Mother," Bran said and he reluctantly closed the book.

Catelyn went to the high table and took her place by her husband's side. She looked at the dirt on his and Robb's clothing as she sat. "A lord is not supposed to get himself dirty with toil, my father always said."

"Aye?" Ned replied with half a grin. "Ladies and their children neither I suppose?" he added with a look at her and then a glance to their children and the others at the table below them. All of them were sweaty and had dirt on their work clothes. At least they had washed their hands.

Catelyn had to grin. "In this case, we will make an exception." Then her face grew serious. "Ned…what they did to the sept…it was awful."

"I saw," her husband replied, his face returning to its usual grim set. "We will get an expert craftsman from White Harbor or Riverrun to come and carve new gods for the sept."

"And we need a new septon," she said. "And a septa for the girls."

"Aye…I will send the ravens this afternoon."

"There are no more ravens for White Harbor," Robb interjected. "There was only one and we sent it yesterday asking for pig iron, glass, and those others things."

"Then we will ask the other lords of the North if they have what we need," Ned answered. "And we will need new ravens. Perhaps Maester William can train some."

The meal continued in the same vein, talking about what they needed to do, and how to do it. Inevitably the talk drifted to Theon Greyjoy.

"Still no sign of him?" Catelyn asked.

"None, at least not from our scouts nearby Winterfell," answered Robb, anger in his eyes. "But Lady Mormont is still looking. And we have not heard from Ser Rodrik yet. May the gods lead them to him before he causes more harm to the North."

As these words came from Robb, Catelyn spied a Winterfell soldier in chain mail and carrying a spear enter the main doors of the hall. He walked straight up to the high table, dipped his head, and addressed her husband.

"Lord Stark, there is a commotion at the Hunter's Gate."

"Commotion? What is it?" Ned asked quickly.

"Some smallfolk from a nearby village, my lord. They asked to see you. And they have a man bound in ropes."

Ned stood immediately and Robb and Catelyn and the Greatjon did as well. "Roslin, Sansa, keep the children here," Catelyn said as they quickly followed the soldier. They said they would and then all eyes were on those who were leaving in a hurry. Soon other soldiers saw what was happening and were rising from the tables and following their lord and lady out the door.

At the Hunter's Gate a crowd was already gathering. A group of six men in farmer's garb were there, with their prisoner bond in ropes and kneeling on the muddy ground. The man had been badly beaten and his face was bruised and bloody. For a brief moment Catelyn thought they had captured Theon. But her husband soon got to the bottom of it.

As Ned approached them all the smallfolk took off their hats and dipped their heads and said 'my lord".

"What's this?" Ned asked in his lord's commanding voice.

"Prisoner, my lord," said an old man, who seemed to be the spokesman. "We brought him for your justice, my lord."

"Aye," said Ned, looking carefully at the man. "Who is he and what is his crime?"

"Murder, my lord," said another man, tears in his eyes. "He killed the miller and my father, Caster Flint."

"Farmer Flint?" Robb said in surprise. Catelyn knew the name as well, having heard stories of how Ned and the boys had often stayed with Farmer Flint over the years while on hunting trips.

"Aye," said Flint's son, a broad man with a thick black beard. "We found his body by the mill, stabbed to death. The miller was hung in a tree by the neck and gutted."

The old man took up the story, nodding to the prisoner. "This one sent hounds after the miller's wife and she'd be dead too except she run to our village, naked as the day she come into the world, screaming and crying for our help. When this one arrived soon on her heels we got him, but not after a fight. He killed two of us and wounded a third before we knocked him senseless. We was about to kill him as well, but the miller's wife told us he was some lord's son. Then we thought we best take him to you for proper justice."

"Seven help us," Catelyn said, now knowing who it was, looking at the man on the ground. "It's Ramsey Snow."

The man on his knees laughed through thick broken lips. "Aye, my lady. But the name is Bolton, not Snow."

"Snow or Bolton, you're still a murderous cur," said Robb with a growl.

"I say its time to get Ice a little bloody, Ned," the Greatjon advised. Many others shouted out their agreements.

But Catelyn's husband looked troubled. "Robb, Lord Umber. Take him to the cells. We need to get to the bottom of all this."

"That's right, Lord Stark," Ramsey sputtered through broken teeth. "My father would be quite vexed if I lost my head without a proper hearing."

Ned stared at him. "Your father knows the punishment for murder is death. I will have the truth of what happened first. That's a right every man and woman of the North has, to plead their case, even you. And if you did do murder, you will feel the cold steel of the North's justice."

With that last comment everyone shouted and then one of the villagers kicked Ramsey from behind. As he fell in the mud more of them cursed him and more blows would have landed on him except Robb and the Greatjon and some guards dragged him away.

Ned looked at the villagers. "You have traveled far and look hungry and tired. My men will take you to the great hall for food and drink. Then you will come to my solar and tell me all that happened."

After the villages thanked him and were led away, Ned started walking to the Great Keep, with Catelyn close alongside. They were soon inside and then they went straight to Ned's chambers. Catelyn saw a servant on the stairs. "Bring hot water and fresh towels for Lord Stark," she commanded and the girl hurried off to obey.

They entered his bed chambers and Ned started to remove his dirty clothing. Catelyn looked at her husband in worry. "Ned…that's Roose Bolton's son."

"Aye," he said wearily as he sat on the bed and took off his muddy boots. "Will trouble never stop following us?"

Catelyn sat in a chair and sighed. "It's as if the gods are testing us beyond all endurance."

"I must give the people of the village justice if what they say is true."

Then Catelyn realized something. "The miller's wife was not with them. The party was made up of only men."

"Aye. Then I will have to go to the village to question her."

"Ned…if the stories they say about Ramsey are true…he might have defiled her. A woman…a woman that has happened to may not tell all she knows to a man…even her lord."

Her husband looked at her closely. "I need the truth of this, Cat. She must tell me."

"I will get the story from her. I will come with you. Leave Robb here, in charge, with the Greatjon."

He thought for a moment. "Aye. You will come with me. The maester should come as well, to see to the wounded villager."

"When should we go?"

"The village is at least a half day's ride. We must wait till morning."

A knock came to the door and Catelyn answered it. The servant girl had a basin of hot water and towels which Catelyn took from her. She placed them on a table and Ned quickly washed his hands and face and upper body. After he dried off he dressed in finer clothing and put on clean boots.

"Best change your own clothes, my lady," Ned advised. "We must look lordly for our people."

Catelyn agreed and went to her own bed chambers nearby, which were warm and cozy, the warmest place in the whole castle, as Ned had often complained. As lady of Winterfell, Catelyn had her own private quarters, but more often than not she had spent the nights in Ned's bed chambers. His visits to her were rarer, seeing as he did not like the heat so much. The walls of Winterfell had been built hundreds of years past, built in a cunning way to catch the warmth of the hot springs under the castle, making the castle bearable in even the coldest winter. Come the winter she knew Ned would not mind slipping under the covers with her in her bed chambers so much. As she thought on this she felt a small thrill. There had not been much chance for love making on the ride home, not with so much to do and so many worries. And now their home was in disarray and new troubles were brewing. How she longed for the simple days from before Jon Arryn had died and Robert Baratheon had come calling. How she longed for a time when all was well with her family and the realm.

Catelyn quickly washed with a basin of cold water that had been there since morning. Then she changed out of the old dress she had worn for working and put on a finer dress of blue. She also put on some of her jewels, surprised most of her finery was still here after the ironmen had sacked the castle. Ned had said they were in such a hurry to get away with their lives they had little time to take plunder.

Ten minutes later she joined her husband in his solar, with Ned sitting by his table and Catelyn standing by his right side. Shortly after that the Greatjon and Robb led the villagers inside. They looked a bit nervous, and after dipping their heads and removing their hats once more, they were quiet, as if awed to be in such a place before their lord.

"Where is the prisoner?" Ned asked Robb.

"In chains in a cell, Father, with four armed men outside it."

Ned nodded and looked at the old man who was the villager's spokesman. "Tell me it all, from the beginning."

The old man spoke up. "Was more than three days past my lord, when Castor Flint took his wheat to the mill for grinding. Then about middle of the morning the miller's wife… Leslie…she come running into the village, crying about her husband being dead and for us to save her from a madman. Not ten minutes later we was still trying to get her to talk sense, when we heard these hounds braying and then they come running into the village square, four of them."

Robb spoke up. "Farlen's hounds maybe."

"Could be," said his father before he looked at the old man again. "Then what happened?"

"Then that bastard came running in after them. He had a madness in his eyes, my lord, and a sword in his hand. He stabbed the first man he saw and then another and by that time there was twenty of us around him and he was waving the sword around and hacking at us. He sliced a third man's leg, but we mostly kept clear and finally old Tom Kettle hit him on the back of the head with a big piece of wood and after that we had him."

Flint's son spoke up. "Then we tied him up and went to the mill. That's when we found my father and the miller…both dead. We…took them back to the village. Had us a funeral yesterday." He choked on the last words and stopped talking.

"Then we argued over what to do with the prisoner, my lord," said the old man. "Some wanted him dead…but Leslie, she said he was bragging about how he was a lord's son. So…here we are, my lord, for your justice."

"Aye," said Ned. "What did the miller's wife tell you about what happened?"

"She…she hasn't said much, except to cry and wail," the old man replied. "She's only eight and ten years of age, my lord. Just been married less than three moons ago."

"Did he hurt her?" Catelyn asked, her voice with an edge of anger.

"Yes, my lady," said another man, tall and strong looking. "She had wounds. I will not speak of them in front of you."

"I command it," she told him in a sharp tone. She had seen so many wounds in the past few weeks, taking care of some herself, that whatever they told would not shock her. But they were men of the North, who tried to shield their women from the horrors of the world.

"'Tis not fit for a woman to hear, my lady," said the old man.

"Do as my lady wife asks," Ned demanded in his lord's voice.

The old man gulped. "As you say, my lord. She was…he…had been at her. He violated her. And…and he is an animal, my lord, an animal…she had…she had bites…on her flesh."

"Animal bites? From the dogs?" Catelyn asked, not ready to believe what they were suggesting.

"No, my lady," said the tall man. "He bit her…on her bosom."

Catelyn shook her head. "Gods…what kind of man is he?"

"Not a man," growled the Greatjon. "A beast."

"Was there anything else she said?" Ned asked.

"No, my lord." the old man said and then Flint's son spoke up.

"There's one more thing, my lord. When we came to the mill my father's horse was gone and we couldn't find it. So was his knife and cudgel he always had. The house looked like it had been ransacked. Not much food left, maybe clothes taken as well. In the fireplace we found the burnt remains of some clothing."

"Did the prisoner have your father's missing things?" Ned asked him.

"No, my lord."

"Was there another man at the mill, helping the prisoner?" Catelyn asked.

"We don't know, my lady," said the old man. "And the miller's wife is not in her right mind to tell the tale.

Ned nodded. "Very well. Thank you for bringing us this news. I think it best if I go to the village and question this woman myself. We will leave in the morning. My son will see you have a place to spend the night."

"Aye," said Robb. "Follow me."

As soon as they left the Greatjon looked at Ned. "He must die it if is true, Ned."

Catelyn stared at Lord Umber. "Have you forgotten whose son he is?"

"No, my lady, but if my son or yours did the same thing he would have to die as well."

"Aye," agreed Ned. "There cannot be one law for lords and one for smallfolk. But we must first find the truth. And we must tell Roose what is happening. He is but a day gone on his journey home."

"A fast rider can catch up," Catelyn advised him.

"I need paper and ink," Ned quickly said to her.

Catelyn found a quill, ink bottle, and parchment on a dusty bookshelf and brought it to him. Ned sat at his table and wrote quickly. When he finished he folded the paper, and then they melted some wax and Ned sealed it and stamped it with the Winterfell sigil. He handed the message to Lord Umber. "Your fastest horse and best rider," Ned told him and then the Greatjon left them.

"Ned…the missing horse and other things…someone had to be with Ramsey."

"Aye…I have an idea who that was. Ramsey must have had Farlen's hounds. He must have killed Farlen…maybe with Theon's help."

"Why would Theon kill Farlen and help Ramsey Snow? Theon was trying to find Bran and Rickon. He needed Farlen and those hounds. And maybe he was trying to get away to his sister at Deepwood Motte according to what Maester Luwin told us with his last breath. And Ned…as much as Theon betrayed us by attacking Winterfell…I do not think he would help Ramsey Snow do what they say he did."

"Maybe not," Ned replied. "But only the gods know what has happened to Theon's mind since you and Robb last saw him. There is more to what happened out there then we know. Roose's men found Farlen's body. But they did not say where or how it was found, just that his throat was cut."

"You must talk to Ramsey…if he will tell the truth."

"He won't," Ned replied. "But I must have words with him anyway."

They left the solar and went to the great hall. The hall was mainly empty now, the lunch hour over and the people going back to work. They found Robb talking to his wife and the children, with Hodor sitting nearby.

"Come, Robb," Ned said right away. "We have to talk to him." Soon they were gone and the others were a babble of voices asking Catelyn what was going on.

"Is it really Ramsey Snow?" Arya asked.

"Who is he?" Little Walder asked.

"He was a prisoner here, remember?" Big Walder told his cousin. "The ironmen let him go."

"He's the Bastard of the Dreadfort," Meera said.

Arya glared at her. "Don't use that word."

Meera looked at her oddly. "That's what he is."

Arya looked ready to argue with her but Catelyn stared at her and shook her head and Arya backed down.

"Isn't he the one who took Lady Hornwood?" Sansa asked.

"Yes," said Catelyn.

"What did he do now?" Bran asked.

Catelyn shook her head, would not tell them, the things Ramsey Snow did at the mill not fit for her children's ears. "Never you mind. Your father and brother are taking care of it. Now you have lessons. All of you. Maester William is waiting for you. Change your clothes and go see him. Hodor, take Bran please."

"Hodor," the big stable boy said and then he picked Bran up and soon they were all leaving the great hall. All except Roslin, who did not take lessons with the maester but stayed with Catelyn now.

The first thing Catelyn did was tell Roslin what happened with Ramsey Snow. As a future lady of Winterfell she had to know everything, had to understand it all, and had to support her husband in his decisions, or advise him against making ill choices. And she had to know the lords of the North and their different personalities, strengths, and weaknesses.

"What will Lord Bolton do if Lord Stark condemns his son to death?" Roslin asked after Catelyn finished speaking.

"That is uncertain. The Boltons…they have a long history of resisting authority from Winterfell. The people of the North fear the Dreadfort, and the stories we sometimes hear are not for the faint of heart. Lord Bolton is a dangerous man, but he is also alone, and no one loves the Boltons, lords or smallfolk. He knows the North would crush him and his if he ever raised a hand against Winterfell. But…if Lord Stark decides Ramsey should die, then Lord Bolton will have no heir, no more sons. And that will make him ask for his son's life to be spared."

"Will Lord Stark give him a reprieve?"

She shook her head. "I think not. This new trouble along with the trouble with the Hornwoods are crimes Ramsey Snow should be punished for. But if there is a reprieve from death for murderers, there is only one place for them. The Wall."

"It seems such a man would not suffer to stay at the Wall," Roslin observed. "Or will cause trouble there as well."

"Yes. It seems he is the type. But if he deserts then it is death for certain." Catelyn stood from the table. "But that is for the men to decide. As for us, it is time for you to learn some things about Winterfell."

After that they went to the kitchens and found the staff cleaning up the remains of lunch and already preparing for the evening meal. Catelyn explained many things to her, and introduced her to the kitchen staff, who all dipped their heads and said 'my lady'. Even the wildling Osha dipped her head, as she took a knife and began slicing the meat off a haunch of mutton that had not been totally consumed at lunch.

After the kitchens they went to the storerooms and Catelyn showed her where the food was kept and how much was there. An assistant to the steward showed them the counts, and gave them the tour. Soon they left there and went to the glass gardens, which had surprisingly survived the ironmen's rampage and fires. Many vegetables and flowers were still growing in the warm stuffy air inside the glass gardens. The gardeners politely dipped their heads and answered all of Roslin and Catelyn's questions.

By the time they were done all of this it was time for the children's lessons to end, and Catelyn had decided that it was time to do something she had been putting off for the last few days, what with all the drama of their homecoming and all that followed. As they walked to the maester's tower, her husband and Robb were coming towards them across the courtyard.

"What did he say?" Catelyn asked right away.

"He says Theon did all the killing," Robb answered, his voice betraying his disbelief.

"So Theon was truly there?" Catelyn asked next.

"Aye," Ned replied. "So Ramsey says. Says he found Farlen's body first, dead, and then he went to the mill. Theon had raped the miller's wife, and the miller was already dead. He tried to take Theon prisoner to bring him back here for justice, and to try to get a pardon for his other crimes. But Theon drew his sword on him. He and Theon were fighting in the yard when old Flint arrived on his wagon and tried to help Ramsey. The woman took off running in the forest as Theon killed Flint. Then Ramsey says he knew Theon was the better swordsman and he took off running as well. Ramsey said he wasn't chasing the miller's wife, he was trying to get away from Theon. He only killed the villagers because they attacked him."

"He lies," Catelyn said through gritted teeth.

"Aye," said Robb. "He lies, and he lies well. There is no way to prove his story or not."

Roslin spoke up, her voice shy and quiet. "The miller's wife knows the truth."

"Yes," said Catelyn right away. "She must tell us if it is true."

"The condition of the house at the mill will tell us more," said Ned. "If they have not set it in order yet. But all this must wait until the morrow. We all have work to do and…"

But Catelyn interrupted him. "I am sorry, my husband. But there is something else we must do first."

"And what would that be?" Ned asked her.

"This business with Arya…collapsing in the tent the night Mikken arrived at our camp. Her knowing things she could not know. Sansa was lying about it. And his strange behavior they have with their direwolves, Bran too and…you knew?"

She saw the look on his face and she could tell right away he knew something. She looked to Robb and he had the same look. "You as well?"

"Aye, Mother," Robb answered, casting his eyes away.

"I…I know something as well, my lady," Roslin spoke up. "I was in the tent when something happened to Arya after you had left that night. I did not understand it all. Jeyne was there as well."

"Gods," Catelyn said a shake of her head. "Am I the last to know what is happening with my children?"

"Let us settle this once and for all," her husband said with determination. "Where are Arya and Sansa now?"

"With the maester," Catelyn replied. "We were just going there.'

"Then let us go," he answered and started walking in the direction of the maester's tower. On the ground outside the tower sat the four direwolves, chewing on bones. Catelyn looked at them, four beasts from legends. No direwolves had been seen south of the wall for hundreds of years…until the day her husband and boys had come across a dead one that had sired six pups that they took home. Their mother had been killed with the antlers of a dead stag. Hullen and Jory and the others with Ned that day had seen an omen in that, that something bad would come of a meeting between stag and direwolf…between Baratheon and Stark. And then came a raven with dark news from King's Landing. Jon Arryn was dead, the King was coming to Winterfell, and all the subsequent madness followed from those two events. But Catelyn also knew that it wasn't the stag that had hurt her family. It was the lion, the Lannister lion, and someday the direwolf would have its revenge.

As Robb approached Grey Wind, the direwolf leaped up and came to his side. Robb ruffled his fur and then hurried to catch up to the others. The other three direwolves sat chewing on their bones, but Catelyn noticed they all faced the maester's tower, as if knowing her children, their masters, were inside. It sent a chill up her back. What was the connection between her children and these creatures from legends?

Inside the maester's chambers they found the children doing math problems, different problems for each age group or level of skill. Bran, Jojen, Meera, and Arya seemed intent on their work, while Sansa and Jeyne were sitting at a small table in the back near the window, whispering to each other about something, and the Frey boys and Rickon were making faces at each other. Maester William was bent over, looking at Bran's work, when Catelyn and the others entered the room. As soon as the children saw who it was they all took a sudden interest in their work.

Maester William looked up. "My lords and ladies," he began. "How can I help?"

"Maester, we need have words with you," Ned told him. "And Sansa and Arya."

Arya and Sansa glanced at each other and Catelyn knew they knew something was happening.

"I think Bran and Jeyne should stay as well, as they may have something to say about this," Catelyn said. "Rickon, you and the Frey boys can go play."

"Yeahhhh!" said Rickon and the Freys as they jumped up, not even caring what was happening as long as they didn't have to stay in school. As they started to leave the room Robb admonished them to stay away from where men were working.

Jojen and Meera started to rise as well, but Ned shook his head. "You can stay. We might as well get all of this over with now." The two children of Howland Reed sat down again. Catelyn looked at her husband oddly. What did he mean?

But she put it out of her mind for now, as Maester William pointed to the small stools the boys had abandoned for Catelyn and Roslin to sit on. He and Robb and Ned remained standing. Then he looked at Lord Stark. "Well…my lord, I guess you should begin by explaining what this inquiry concerns."

"I think my wife best do that."

All eyes turned to Catelyn Stark. "First, I must ask my daughters something," Catelyn began as she looked at Arya and Sansa. "I would have the truth about what happened in the tent the night Mikken arrived in our camp. Arya, you fell, and then you knew what was happening outside the tent. How is that possible?"

Sansa spoke quickly. "We…we told you that Arya just fell and…"

"She knows something," Arya interrupted her sister. "You don't have to lie for me…us… anymore." Now she looked at her mother steadily. "I'm a warg. And so was Sansa before Lady died and the connection broken. Gendry told me Robb is the same and I bet Bran and Rickon are too."

"Wargs," Ned said heavily. He looked at the Reed children. "Your father said the same thing. But I was not ready to believe him. Now I am."

"Wargs?" Catelyn said, recovering from the shock that had run through her when Arya had said the word. She had heard the term before, legends, about people north of the Wall who could enter an animal's mind. But her children? "No, it can't be true," she said right away, not willing to believe it. "How is it possible?"

"It's true," said Robb, quietly, and Roslin stared in wonder at her husband. "Gendry told me about Arya's dreams on the road home. About how Arya dreamed she was inside Nymeria, …but it wasn't a dream. She was part of Nymeria, could control her actions, could see what she sees. The same happens with me and Grey Wind when I sleep."

"And me and Summer," Bran told them and Catelyn could not help but gasp.

"When you were hurt, Summer howled every night," she told her son. "And when that man attacked us…Summer saved us."

"Summer knew I was in trouble," said Bran calmly.

"Gods," Ned swore. He looked from Robb to Bran and then to his daughters. "You both told me it was just dreams. You never said anything about knowing what a warg was."

Arya chewed her lip and looked down. "I thought you would say we were…we were mad. Not right in the head." And no one knew what to say to that.

"What's a warg?" Jeyne asked in the sudden silence.

"A person who can enter the mind of an animal," explained Maester William, speaking for the first time. "I know little of them I am afraid. But it has been documented by maesters who served at the Wall. I am sure Maester Aemon knows more."

"How can this be?" Catelyn asked, looking to her husband and then the maester. "Why my children? Why these direwolves?"

"They have the blood of the North, the Stark blood," Ned said after a moment of thought.

"The direwolf is our sigil after all," added Robb.

"This only began after the direwolves came to Winterfell?" Maester William asked.

"Yes," Arya said and Sansa, Robb, and Bran agreed with her. They all said none had any connection with any animal before the direwolves arrived.

Catelyn looked at Arya. "Tell me when this first happened with Nymeria."

"I dreamed of Nymeria before we left Winterfell…but I thought it was just dreams."

"I had the same dreams about Lady, until she died," Sansa added sadly.

Her friend Jeyne was looking at her and seemed a bit put out. "You never told me."

"How could I?" Sansa replied. "You would think I was crazy."

"Tell me more," Catelyn demanded of Arya.

"Then on the road home, in my tent…I had a dream…but it was so real. I was chasing horses and men and then…I killed a man…and I…I was hungry, so hungry, I mean Nymeria was so hungry…I…Nymeria…she ate. The man." That brought shocked gasps from Sansa and Jeyne and Roslin.

"Gods," said Catelyn, looking at her daughter in wonder and sympathy. "Did you tell anyone?"

"Gendry…he was in the tent, and so I told him. He heard me growling in my sleep as well."

"Did you have more dreams after that?" Ned asked her.

"At Harrenhal, again," Arya told them. "And then I saved Sansa."

"What? How?" Catelyn asked in surprise.

Sansa took up the tale, and told them about the attack on her and how she knew Nymeria was Arya and how Nymeria attacked the two men.

"And then she wanted to kill San…the Hound. But I stopped her and she ran away."

"It was me, inside Nymeria," Arya added. "I could see everything and sense everything Nymeria could."

"You said it was a wolf that attacked those men!" Jeyne almost shouted at Sansa.

"What else was I supposed to tell those Lannisters?" Sansa shot back. "My sister was out their roaming around inside a direwolf?"

"No," said Catelyn right away. "You did right. You are, none of you, to speak a word of this to anyone."

"Gendry knows," Arya said. "But he won't tell anyone."

"Ah, Sandor Clegane…the Hound. He knows as well," Sansa said a bit reluctantly.

"How?" Catelyn asked her eldest daughter.

"He heard me call Nymeria 'Arya' when I was attacked. He asked me about it, so I told him what I knew. Then he said we were wargs."

"He called me the same at Harrenhal," Arya told them.

"He is far away now," their father said. "But no one else must know."

They all agreed and then Arya took up her tale again.

"Then near the Twins I found Nymeria again after a dream. Then...on the way home, after Moat Cailin…I began to control it."

"How?" asked Robb, seemingly curious and Roslin gave him a look, fear in her eyes.

"I…can go inside Nymeria when I want. Even when I am awake. I don't know how I do it. That's what happened at the tent when Mikken arrived. I was inside Nymeria, and saw Mikken on his horse. And later I just did it, on my own. Now, I can just think about it and it happens."

"It's like slipping out of your skin and inside the direwolf's," Bran added.

"You can control it?" Ned asked his son in wonder.

"Yes, Father," Bran replied. "Lord Umber was right. I was inside Summer when he found us on the road. I slipped inside Summer and went to the road to make sure no one was there, that Theon and his men weren't there waiting for us."

"It's true," said Jojen. "We saw him do it. He is a warg."

"Osha knows as well," added Meera. "She told us about some of her people who have this power. They shun them in the villages north of the Wall."

They were all silent for a minute, taking this in. Finally, Catelyn spoke to her husband. "What should we do?"

"There is not much we can do except kept silent about this," Ned began.

Catelyn suddenly knew there was something they could do. They could kill the rest of the direwolves. Lady was dead, and the connection with Sansa was broken. She was about to voice her idea and then she remembered the rest of what she knew about the direwolves and she knew she could not voice her opinion. Summer had saved Bran and her from the man with the knife. The stories the men in the army told of Grey Wind, fighting by Robb's side, killing men and horses both, always protecting Robb. And Nymeria had saved Sansa on the Kingsroad. She also knew her children would never forgive her if she ordered the men of Winterfell to kill their special pets. She could tell Sansa still grieved over her lost Lady. Then somehow her mind drifted to Jon and his direwolf Ghost.

"Jon," she said aloud, and she had used his name so little over the years they were all surprised.

"I bet he is like us," said Arya, excitement in her voice. "Him and Ghost."

"Aye," said Robb. "And Rickon as well."

"You will say nothing to Rickon on this," Catelyn told them sharply. She did not want him getting scared thinking something was wrong with him. "If he has the connection as well let him think they are dreams for now." Her children reluctantly agreed.

"I think we should talk to Osha on this later," Ned told them. "Maester William, I want you to write to Maester Aemon on the Wall. Ask him what he knows, and ask him to be discreet."

"Maester Aemon is blind, Lord Stark," the maester reminded him. "He will need help with any research or letters he writes us."

"I had forgotten about his condition," Ned replied. "It will make it difficult for him to aid us without involving any others."

"Then we must write to Jon," Robb said right away. "To ask what he knows, and if the same thing is happening to him. He can talk to Maester Aemon and get any advice."

"Aye," said Ned. "Then I believe that is all we can do for the moment. Sansa, Arya, Jeyne, go and find Rickon and the Frey boys. It is time to straighten up the library. Put all the books in their proper places."

"Yes, Father," Sansa said and then she and Arya and Jeyne left the maesters chambers.

"I should go supervise them before they make a much worse mess than there already is," said Catelyn, rising from her stool. "Come, Roslin."

But her husband stopped her. "Not yet, my wife. And you too, Roslin. Stay. We must discuss some other matters."

"What matters?" Catelyn asked, but Ned was looking at the Reed children.

"It is time we talked on why you came here."

Catelyn was confused. What did he mean? "They came for the harvest festival," she said and then looked at the Reed children. "Did you not?"

Now Jojen spoke. "No, my lady. We came to help Bran."

"Help Bran?" Catelyn said in surprise. "How can you help Bran?"

"I have the greensight," Jojen told her. "I saw Bran in my dreams. He will fly."

Robb snorted. "Bran can't fly any more than any of us. He is not a raven."

"His green dreams come true," Meera said to Robb. "Always."

"How is that possible?" Roslin asked.

"I have heard tell of this," the maester said. "Some people can see the future, whether in dreams or in fire as the red priests of the Lord of Light claim they can. When I was in the Citadel in training there was a tale of an old dwarf woman who roamed the hills near Harrenhal, telling people their future for a drink and a song and a bit of food." He now looked at Jojen. "What did you dream of?"

"I dreamed that a wolf was held in chains and a three eyed crow would set him free. That the wolf would fly when he was free."

"Howland told me the same tale when we met south of the Neck," Ned stated.

Catelyn stared at her husband. "And when was I to know of all this?"

"Forgive me," Ned said and she could tell he was truly sorry. "I needed more information and did not want to worry you unduly with such tales if there was no truth to them. But now it seems it is time to find out the truths of this." Ned looked over at Bran. "Bran…what of it?"

"He thinks I am the wolf," Bran said. "And…and I have dreamed of a crow with three eyes, pecking at my forehead."

"Trying to open his heart and mind to the world," said Jojen. "To make him understand his power."

Catelyn shook her head. "Stop. Enough. You have dreams, so you say. Your sister says they come true. But what proof have we of this?"

Bran supplied the answer. "Jojen dreamed that the sea would come to Winterfell."

"The sea can't come to Winter…," Robb began but then he stopped. "The ironmen."

"You dreamed they would attack?" Ned asked Jojen.

"Not exactly, my lord. I just saw the sea and many people in Winterfell drowned."

"He also dreamed of how the wolf would come and push back the sea," added Meera. "And how you would capture Moat Cailin. He saw a turtle climb out of the swamp and use its head to knock down the towers."

"Gods," said Catelyn in shock. "The shield shell."

"Aye," her husband said, his grim face full of worry. He cast his eyes back to Jojen. "Suppose we believe what you say. What now? What is Bran to do?"

"He needs to come with me, north of the Wall. The answers lie there."

"Out of the question," Catelyn said immediately, standing and glaring at him. "Are you mad?"

"No, my lady. But I know Bran must go there." Jojen remained calm, his voice at an even level.

"Why?" Robb asked. "What is north of the Wall that is so important?"

"I know not," Jojen replied. "I just know he must go there. Or all will be lost."

"You talk in riddles and give no answers," said Ned, now angry, Catelyn could tell, trying to control it in front of the others.

"I am sorry, my lord," Meera said in an apologetic tone. "We told you what we know and what must be done. It is up to you to decide."

Her husband hesitated but Catelyn had already made up her mind. "My son is not going to the Wall. He is not going two feet outside the gates of Winterfell! And your father would not be our friend for long if we let you go there as well. Enough of this talk."

"Then we will leave on the morrow," said Meera solemnly. "Knowing we have failed. We thank you for your hospitality these last many weeks. Come, Jojen. We must prepare for our journey. By your leave my lord, my lady."

"Aye," said Ned, his anger now subsiding. "But do not be so hasty to leave. I will talk with you on the morrow again."

"As you wish, my lord," said Meera and then the two of them left.

After they were gone Catelyn sank back onto her stool. "Why?" she said to know one in particular, her voice with an edge of despair. "Why have the gods chosen us, to test us with this nonsense?"

No one said a word for a moment, and then the maester spoke. "My lady…it may not be all nonsense. The boy had three dreams that came true. That much we know. What if what he says of Bran is true?"

"Lady Catelyn is right," said Roslin with some strength in her voice. "A wolf in chains? A three-eyed crow? It is nonsense."

"I dreamed of the three-eyed crow," Bran said strongly. "It's not nonsense."

"Just a dream, my son," Catelyn told him, unable to hide the worry in her voice.

"Like our direwolf dreams, Mother?" Robb asked. "I know they are not nonsense. What if what Jojen says has some truth to it?"

"How can we know?" Catelyn asked her oldest son. "He says Bran must go north of the Wall, but he says not why. Did he say anything to you, Bran?"

"No, this is the first I heard him speak of going to the Wall."

"No one is going anywhere," Ned said. "Except back to work. We have much to do. Let us set all this aside for the time being. The Reed children can return home on the morrow if they wish. I will not stop them. We need information and Maester Aemon may be the only one to help us. Maester William, we must write more letters I am afraid."

As Ned and the maester stayed and wrote the letters, Robb picked up Bran and they and Catelyn and Roslin went to the library to help the others. The rest of the day Catelyn floated along as if in a fog, thinking on all that had happened and that she had learned. Too many shocks were not good for her and before the evening meal she was in need of reflection. The sept had no god statues but it was clean now and she could light a candle to ask for wisdom from the Crone. She lit the candle on the Crone's altar and knelt before it, silently asking for help on what to do. But no answers came to her. As she stood to leave she heard a noise behind her. It was Gendry, coming to the sept doors with his hammer in one hand and a door hinge in the other, about to replace one of the broken door hinges in the dying sunlight.

"Sorry to disturb you, my lady," he said. "I will finish this tomorrow."

"No, please stay," she said. "I am just leaving."

She started to walk past him when she stopped. "I know about Arya and Nymeria," she told him.

"She told me, my lady."

"She tells you everything?"

He grinned. "Most things. Course, I wouldn't know if she hadn't."

"No, I suppose you wouldn't," Catelyn replied. Then she just had to ask him. "Do you love her?"

A flush came to his cheeks and he hesitated. "I…know you don't want me to, my lady…but I can't help it. I do."

"Even though you know what she is? A warg?"

He looked at her in puzzlement. "She's still Arya to me, my lady. Warg or no warg. That does not change how I feel about her. My lady."

Catelyn knew he was right, knew that what he was saying was true, that they were still her children no matter what they were inside. She smiled at him. "Gendry…thank you."

She left him to his work. After the evening meal she went to her quarters, and as the sun set she lit some candles in her room. She visited her children and made sure they had eaten enough and were settling in for the night. Bran was in his bed, reading a book by candle light and Rickon was already fast asleep. Arya was standing in the middle of her room, practicing with Needle, while Sansa was combing her long auburn hair at a dressing table. She thought to look in on Robb and then remembered her oldest son was married and it was not proper to disturb him.

Catelyn Stark retired to her own quarters and changed into a night dress and was combing her own hair at her dressing table when her husband came to her door. "May I enter, my lady?" he asked.

She smiled at that. It was something that he had first said years ago, when they were finally together after so long apart. They had had a brief honeymoon at Riverrun after getting married, long enough for her to become pregnant with Robb, but too brief to know each other well. Then he had gone to war and had returned a year later with Jon. They were already at Winterfell, Jon and a wet nurse, when she arrived from Riverrun with Robb in her arms. There had been arguments, and recriminations, and many silences between them those first days. The first three nights he had stayed away from her. Finally, he had come to her rooms and asked the question. "May I enter, my lady?"

He was Lord of Winterfell and could do what he damn well pleased in his own castle, but he had the courtesy to ask her. She had looked at him for a long moment and then relented, letting him come to her bed, and after that things had been better between them, though she never forgave him for Jon. From then on, though he did not like her rooms much because of their warmth, and she more often than not went to his rooms, whenever he wanted to spend a night with her he came and asked the same question.

"Of course, my husband," she answered, in the usual manner, and she was glad to play this game that they had not played in so many months.

He came in and sat on the bed. "I'm sorry, Cat, for not telling you what I knew sooner."

"It was wrong," she said, her voice colder than she had intended.

"Aye," he said, and she knew she had hurt him and had destroyed the earlier mood.

Catelyn came from her dressing table and sat on the bed next to him and put a hand on his knee, which he quickly grasped with his strong hand. "Ned…we must trust each other. We cannot have anymore secrets, especially concerning the children."

"No more," he promised her.

"Good. Now, what are we to do with the children, Ned?"

"We do as we always do. We protect them and love them and guide them as best we can."

"But now…what if the people find out what they are? You heard the Reed girl say that Osha told them people north of the Wall shun that…that kind of person. Will it be no different here?"

"I know not, my lady. We best make sure no one else finds out."

"I went to the sept and prayed for wisdom from the Crone. But I received none…until I talked to the smith. He said the same as you said, in a way."

"You heard the Smith's voice?" he asked with skepticism.

She smiled. "The smith was Gendry. He was fixing the sept doors. He said he cared not if Arya was a warg. She was still Arya, and he loved her."

"He told you he loved her?" he asked in surprise.

"I asked and he said so."

"And how do you feel about that?"

"Not so bad as I would have at one time."

Now he smiled. "That is good. Let us to bed, my lady." He started to remove his boots. "Tomorrow we have much to do. Again. First, we must see the miller's wife."

"Ned…what if the miller's wife tells us that all they said of Ramsey is true? Then he must die, mustn't he?"

"Aye, he must. And Roose will take that hard."

"If he had other sons he might not. You know the rumors that Ramsey killed Roose's true son?"

"I have heard," Ned answered. "But there was no proof of it."

"Perhaps if he had a new wife, and new sons…." She let the implication hang in the air.

"And who would let their daughter marry a man with his and his home's repute?"

"Walder Frey has many more daughters and granddaughters."

Ned raised his eyebrows. "Aye, he does at that. I need think on this. When Roose comes, we will have much to discuss. And a trial for his son."

They went to bed after that and made love, and for the first time in a long time they lay in each other's arms in relative comfort and security. But not as comfortable and secure as Catelyn Stark would have liked. She thought once they had reached Winterfell all the madness would be behind them and they would be safe and happy. But now she had many doubts and fears of the future, above all she worried for her children, and sleep did not come easy to the lady of Winterfell, and she wondered when it ever would again.


	42. Chapter 42 Eddard

**Ned Stark Lives! Chapter 42 Eddard**

Winterfell awoke to a downpour of rain that had started in the night and continued all morning. As Ned Stark and his family broke their fast in the great hall, the rain kept coming down outside. A chill was also in the air, despite the burning fires in the hearths of the great hall.

The hall was mostly empty, so Ned sat with his wife and children on both sides of a lower table. Breakfast in Winterfell did not have a formally set time, with people coming and going and eating as they awoke to perform their duties. At another table sat the Frey boys, the Reed children, and Jeyne Poole, and a few other tables had some occupants, but not many. Ned did not have much of an appetite this morning, thinking on the trip to the village that lay ahead, and the prospect of dealing with Roose Bolton later in the day or possibly tomorrow. He also had to have words with Howland Reed's children before they left, if they were still planning on leaving in this rain. Maybe rain did not bother them so much, seeing as they came from a swampy, watery world. Ned was not looking forward to any of these tasks, but knew he must deal with each.

Ned just ate some bread covered in butter and honey, with a cup of ale at his elbow, foregoing the boiled eggs and crisp bacon that were on platters in front of him. Catelyn also ate little, and was now sipping a piping hot mug of nettle tea, as were Arya and Sansa, trying to warm up. Bran and Rickon ate crisp strips of bacon sitting on slabs of warm buttered bread, while Robb sat in morose silence opposite his father, not touching the food on his pewter plate which he was staring at. His wife Roslin was conspicuously absent.

"She will get over it," Ned told his oldest son quietly.

"Aye," Robb said, not looking up from his plate, his tone telling them he was not totally convinced of his father's words.

"Does she hate us all?" Arya asked as she reached for a strip of bacon.

"She does not hate us," Catelyn said to her daughter. "She's just…afraid. She does not understand what is happening. It is too much of a shock. Give her time."

"Is it because of…what we are?" Bran asked, and Ned knew Bran had caught onto the gist of the conversation, even though he had missed the earlier explanations. Robb had quickly explained to the others what had happened between him and Roslin before Bran and Rickon had joined them this morning.

"Yes," Robb told Bran.

"Why is she mad?" Rickon asked as he chewed his bacon.

"She just is," Sansa told her little brother. "Don't speak with your mouth full."

Everyone gave glances to each other, all of them knowing why Roslin was absent, but unable to speak of it in front of Rickon. Roslin wasn't mad, Ned knew, she was just afraid, afraid of what Robb was. Yesterday when they had all learned the truth of the Stark children being wargs, Roslin's face had been full of fear and shock. This morning Robb had explained to the others what had happened after they had gone to bed last night.

In the privacy of their bedroom, Roslin had questioned Robb about it all, and they had argued. She thought he would turn into a direwolf, would become a beast in the night while she slept, and would hurt her, but that was not true. Robb told her she had already spent several weeks in his bed and he had not turned into a direwolf. He explained how it worked, how he joined with Grey Wind in his dreams, but was not part of him all of the time, not every night. And he would never, ever hurt her or anyone else in Winterfell. After that she calmed down and went to sleep. She was still sleeping, Robb had said. He looked terrible, his eyes bloodshot and his face haggard, and Ned knew Robb had not slept well.

"Gendry can talk to her," Arya said suddenly. "He knows what it's like. He's slept by me when I had the dreams and I never hurt him."

Bran looked at his sister in a curious fashion. "Why was Gendry sleeping beside you?"

Sansa let out a giggle. Arya's face flushed at first but then her eyes narrowed and she snapped at her brother. "In the tent, stupid, on the road from King's Landing. I told you yesterday."

Bran glared at her. "Don't call me stupid, stupid. I know he's your boyfriend, so you can stop pretending he's not."

"He is not!" Arya said swiftly, blushing even more.

"Liar!" Bran shot back.

"Enough!" Catelyn snapped at her children. She stared at Bran. "Gendry was brought here to be an apprentice smith. He is Arya's friend. That is all. And you had best remember that around certain people." She glanced over at the table where the Frey boys were

"Yes, Mother," Bran said quietly, sulking, not liking being scolded in front of the others.

"Arya," Catelyn said next. "Apologize to your brother."

"I'm sorry," Arya said to Bran, in an airy voice that sounded like she wasn't sorry at all. At least it didn't sound like it to Ned, but Bran seemed to accept it.

"I like Gendry," said Rickon in the silence that followed. "He's big and strong."

Ned smiled at his youngest child. "Aye, he's a good lad." Then he looked at Bran. "Bran…leave it be. You are not wrong….but others cannot know. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Father." Then Bran looked across the table at Arya. "I'm not stupid."

Arya gave a snort and Ned was about to scold her when he saw Roslin enter the hall and then come to their table.

"Here's the sleeping beauty," Ned said with a grin and Robb and the others looked and saw who it was. Robb stood swiftly as Roslin came to their table.

"Good morning," she said quietly, and it looked like she hadn't slept well either. She was also a bit wet from running across the court yard to the great hall.

"Good morning," Robb said. He motioned for her to sit but she stayed standing and looked at him, her eyes on his face.

"I am sorry, my husband. I was foolish."

Robb grinned. "Not to worry. Just…hard news to handle."

"Sit and eat," said Catelyn to them. "We can discuss all this later," she added with a knowing look to Rickon.

"Yes, my lady," Roslin said as she sat beside Robb.

After a few moments Roslin's brother Olyvar, who was Robb's squire, came into the great hall. As a squire he did not eat with the family, even though his sister was married to the heir to Winterfell. He slept in a barracks with the other squires, soldiers, and the few knights of Winterfell, who were all helping with the rebuilding of the winter town outside of the castle.

"Lord Stark," Olyvar said with a dip of his head after he approached the table. "The folk from the village wondered when you would be leaving, my lord."

Ned had heard that the village people had been up very early, the first to breakfast, and were anxious to be away, but in this rain it would be a wet and uncomfortable ride back to their village. "Tell them when the rain lets up a bit. Maybe in an hour or two."

"Yes, my lord," Olyvar said and he ran off to pass the news.

After he left Ned saw that the Reed children were about to leave as well. He excused himself, stood, and quickly walked to where they were.

"We need have words," he told them and motioned to a nearby empty table. They sat and Ned sat opposite them.

"Are you leaving today?" was the first thing he asked.

Meera spoke for them. "Yes, my lord. When the rain lets up a bit perhaps. Do you have any messages for our father?"

"Aye…but first I need ask you again, both of you, about this business with Bran."

"We told you all we know yesterday," Meera said.

"Bran must go to the Wall," Jojen told him. "And then north of it."

"But why?" Ned asked in frustration.

"We don't know, my lord," Meera answered.

"You must understand how this looks to me and my family," Ned told them. "You are asking my eight-year-old son, who cannot even walk, to go where most grown men fear to go, to a place that is full of danger, a cold, bitter place where you will find no castles or friends to comfort you. But you don't even know where you are going or why."

"I know it sounds idiotic, my lord," Jojen answered. "But I cannot help my green dreams. I see what I see…and it always comes true."

Ned grasped at an idea he had been forming in his mind. "Maybe things have changed. Maybe he doesn't need to go now. Have you had any new dreams about him?"

"No," Jojen replied. "My dreams of late are…cloudy."

"Cloudy? You mean not clear?"

"Yes, my lord. I cannot fully see them sometimes. This may mean nothing. Or it could mean everything. The old men and women of our land who have had the green dreams for a long time say that sometimes a dream not seen clearly means something has changed, something has disturbed the balance of things as they should have been or should have become."

"What do you think changed if this is so?" Ned asked.

Meera and Jojen looked at each other, and then Jojen nodded to his sister and she spoke to Ned. "Something happened that has sent a ripple through events in Westeros."

"Many momentous events have happened in recent weeks and months," Ned answered. "King Robert died, war began, battles were fought, Tywin Lannister and Joffrey have also died, King's Landing has fallen to Stannis Baratheon, and the ironmen have attacked the North."

"All true, my lord," said Meera. "One of these events or another, something we cannot grasp, is causing his dreams to be cloudy. But Jojen's first dream about the wolf in chains was clear, and it is what will happen. He will free the wolf in chains, and the wolf will fly."

Ned had had enough. "Riddles and nonsense," he muttered. "I am sorry you have come this far for nothing. I thank you again for your help when the ironmen came here. But I cannot allow Bran to go with you. He is my son, and he is staying here. That is my final decision."

"As you wish my lord," said Meera. "Then we will go, today. You said you had a message for our father?"

"Aye. I will write a letter and give it to you before you leave."

"We will leave by the East Gate when the rain lets up, my lord," Merra said. She and her brother stood, dipped their heads to him once more, and then left the great hall. No sooner had they gone than Catelyn was by his side.

"Did they have any other explanations?" she asked.

"None," Ned told his wife. "The boy still insists Bran must go north of the Wall, but gives no reasons. I refused them again. They will leave when the rain stops."

She sat and grasped his left arm. "Ned…it must mean something. The boy has had these dreams before, and they always come true."

"Aye," he replied. "But what does it mean? He does not know."

"Or will not say."

"Could be some truth to that. He also said of late his dreams are cloudy, not clear. They said it means something has changed, some event has happened to make things unclear."

Catelyn took hope from this news. "Then perhaps it means the dream concerning Bran is no longer going to come true."

"They said it would," Ned told her and the almost happy look on her face fell. "What event could they mean?" he mused after moment. "So much has happened."

"Too much," she replied heavily. "I will pray to the gods for a peaceful quiet life from now on."

"As will I," Ned told her.

Ned wrote the letter in his solar after breakfast was over, and sealed it with his direwolf sigil. The letter told Howland he was sorry he could not believe his children, and that he could not send Bran with them, could not allow them to go there themselves, and that he hoped this did not strain their friendship. Ned knew it would not, knowing Howland as well as he did. Ned wanted to believe them, wanted to understand the riddle behind the green dream. Was Bran a wolf in chains? Would he fly? But…how? And why north of the Wall?

Ned had been north of the Wall once, a short trip with Benjen's rangers and Lord Mormont, years ago soon after the last winter had ended and just before the Greyjoy Rebellion. The land north of the Wall was bitterly cold, with nothing but trees, frozen lakes and streams, and the odd wildling village. He would not send his son to that, especially a son who could not walk.

The rain did not let up until noon, and the Reed children left soon after. There were many goodbyes as the Stark family and others gathered by the East Gate. Ned gave them his letter and wished them a safe journey. They also gave them plenty of food to help them on their trip. The road south was safe now Ned knew, and Meera and Jojen were not exactly children and he knew they could defend themselves if need be. Still, he offered them an escort of ten men, but Meera refused, and also refused an offer of horses or donkeys, telling him they could move fast on foot alone, and that horses and donkeys had no place in the Neck's bogs.

Bran was there to say goodbye, on Hodor's back, and before they left, Jojen came up to him and asked Hodor to bend down. Jojen said something quietly to Bran that no one else could hear and then after one more goodbye, Meera and Jojen walked out the gate and soon headed to the Kingsroad.

"What did he say to you?" Sansa asked Bran as they walked back into the castle.

"Nothing," Bran said quickly and Catelyn stopped them and looked at her son.

"Bran…tell us," she demanded, a worried look in her eye.

"He just said good-bye, Mother."

"He didn't have to whisper that," Arya said.

"Bran," Catelyn said in her serious tone. "You will not leave this castle. You will not go anywhere with Jojen and Meera or anyone else." She stared at Hodor. "Hodor, you will not take Bran outside of Winterfell. Do you understand?"

"Hodor," the big stable boy replied.

"Bran, you will not ask him or anyone else to help you."

"I wasn't planning on going anywhere, Mother. If you all must know, all he said was 'You will fly someday.' That's all."

"Bran," his mother said, with sorrow in her eyes. "Men cannot fly. Nor can little boys."

"I know," Bran said in his sulky voice. "I'm not a stupid little boy. Hodor, take me to the library."

"Hodor."

As the big stable boy walked away with her son on his back, Catelyn looked like she wanted to speak again but Ned shook his head. "Let him be for now."

After that it was time for Ned and Catelyn to go to the village. They left the castle by the Hunter's Gate just after midday. Ned and Catelyn mounted their horses while their children stood by, even Bran on Hodor's back. Robb and the Greatjon both said they should come as well but Ned felt more comfortable having them here, keeping an eye on the castle and making sure work was progressing on rebuilding the winter town. Twenty soldiers came with them, as well as the maester, all on horseback for swifter travel. The villagers had also been given horses, to make the trip easier for them as well. They also brought four pack horses, laden with tents and food, in case they had to spend the night in the village. Ned knew the villagers would shelter them and feast them, but he did not want to impose on their food supplies, not with winter so close at hand.

Ned led them out the Hunter's Gate and into the Wolfswood, the forest near the castle somewhat empty of trees but as they went deeper into the forest, the foliage grew thicker. The leaves were already turning red and orange Ned noted, and fall was advancing more rapidly than he thought it would.

"Winter is coming," Catelyn said as she looked to the trees and Ned chuckled and then she realized what she had said and gave a small grin. "I guess I truly am a Stark now."

"Aye, my lady," Ned replied. Then he turned grim. "Let us take care of this business and all else before the snows come."

After a while Ned let the old man from the village lead them, following paths and well-known ways until they hit the stream that flowed past the mill. They followed it for a few hours, until by mid-afternoon they had reached the mill.

Ned looked at his soldiers. "Ten of you spread out in the woods. Look for a fresh dug grave. Farlen is buried out here somewhere. We will take him back to Winterfell for a proper burial."

As the men moved to do as he commanded, Ned and Catelyn and the others examined the scene at the mill. The blood on the ground had been washed away by the recent rain, but bits of the miller's flesh that carrion birds had clawed out of him were still on the ground under the tree. Two cut ropes were hanging there as well.

"Two men were hung here?" Ned asked the old man and Caster Flint's son.

"Could be, my lord," said the old man, looking at the ropes, a puzzled look on his face. "We only found the miller."

Ned looked at the two rope ends. "Fresh cut with a knife," he said. "There had to be a second man tied up here. Why else cut the rope?"

Then Flint's son spoke up. "There was a chair here, by the tree, when we arrived, my lord," he said. "Must be someone stood on it to cut down the miller…and the second man…if there was one. My father was not that tall. It must have been him."

"Aye," said Ned. "You put the chair back in the house?"

"Aye, my lord."

Ned could see it all now. Farmer Flint had come in on his wagon and saw two men hanging here and he cut them down. The miller was already dead. But who was the second man? Ned had a feeling it was Theon, but where was the proof?

In the house they found it. The miller's house seemed neat and in order, except on the table where the remains of the burnt clothing the villagers had found in the fireplace. Catelyn was there already, looking at it. "A surcoat," she said. She carefully examined it and then she gave a start. There, just visible in yellowish gold thread, under the ash and soot and charred cloth, was the head and a few tentacles of the kraken sigil of the Greyjoys.

"Theon," Ned said through gritted teeth.

"Or one of his men," Catelyn added and for a moment Ned thought she was right. It could have been any of the ironmen. Then he remembered they were all accounted for. Except Theon.

"It had to be Theon. All his men are dead or in our cells."

"We should take it with us," Catelyn said and then Ned took it from her, carried it to his horse and put it in a saddle bag. Just then they heard a shout through the trees.

"Lord Stark!" came the shout. They followed the shouts and soon came to a small clearing. A soldier pointed to a mound of dirt. Nearby was a tree with some bits of rope tied to it. On the ground nearby were some burnt tree branches and some ashes from a recent fire.

"It must be Farlen," Catelyn said, her voice with an edge of emotion to it.

"Dig it up," Ned commanded and his men soon set to work, using their helmets to remove the dirt. Ned looked to his wife, wanted to tell her to look away, but then he remembered she had seen many dead men and had even cared for some of the wounded, including Gendry. The dead do not scare her, he thought, nor do they scare me. It's the living ones we need fear.

The grave was shallow and in a few moments Farlen's body was exposed. A rank, sickly smell of decaying flesh filled the air and many wrinkled their noses and stepped back from the smell of the rotting body. The maester came forward and bent over the dead kennel master. After a quick examination, he stood and turned to Ned.

"His throat is cut, very deep," Maester William told them.

"As Lord Bolton's man said," Catelyn stated.

"Aye," Ned answered. "Look at his hands, maester, if you would."

Maester William did as he was bade and then after a moment stood again. "He was bound. There are marks on his wrists."

Ned thanked him and then told a soldier to go back to the house and get a blanket. After ten minutes he returned with a large blanket. They wrapped Farlen's body up in it and then Catelyn said a small prayer which several soldiers and the maester joined her in. When they finished, Ned looked at two of the soldiers.

"Take him back to Winterfell. Do you know the way?"

"Aye, my lord," said one. They loaded Farlen's body on one of the pack horses after its supplies were taken off, and soon the men were gone, back towards Winterfell.

"Now to the village," Ned ordered.

They redistributed the supplies from the now gone pack horse, and soon were making their way to the village on the path that was alongside of the stream. It took them about thirty minutes at a slow pace, the path rutted and muddy and full of puddles from the recent rain. As they got closer they came to some fields, which were mostly empty, the last harvest taken in almost a moon's turn ago during the harvest festival time. They passed barns Ned knew must be full of grain. A small herd of milking cows was in a field of grass, most likely a common ground for all the village cows. They also saw some pigs in a sty and Ned heard the clucking of chickens and the cackle of geese from somewhere nearby.

The village proper had a main street and three side streets, all just dirt tracks, with about thirty buildings, mostly mud and wattle houses, with stone fireplaces and chimneys. There were a few houses made from wood. As they came into the village they passed some gardens where people were digging up potatoes and carrots. The smallfolk stopped their work and dipped their heads, and soon began to follow them.

Unlike most lords, Ned did not begrudge the smallfolk the bounty of the lands near his castle. The people were free to hunt and fish, and gather fruit and berries and honey within a league of their village proper. Although the land belonged to the lords of each region, customs and traditions over the centuries had decreed which lands were used by each village and town. The North was so vast and empty that there were few disputes over property. As was customary each nearby village paid a tax to their lord, sending produce to their liege lord at harvest time. Ned also bought some produce with his own coin, and trade in many other items was brisk between villages and towns and Winterfell. The winter town outside the castle had a market day once a week when nearby villagers could come and sell their extra produce or things they had made in their homes, such as clothing, shoes and boots, wool yarn, and a myriad of other things. The villages and towns also provided men and horses and herds in time of war. In return for all of this the local smallfolk got the protection of their lord and his men, the healing hands of his maester on occasion, the metal items from his forge, and the power of his justice when disputes arose. The land was ruled with a firm but fair hand, and the smallfolk had little to fear from lawless men.

But of late things had not been so in parts of the Seven Kingdoms. The Riverlands had seen the worst of it, and so had the lands near King's Landing. The North had also seen some share of lawlessness at the hands of the ironmen. And now at the hands of Ramsey Snow, once again.

Soon they came into the center of the village, a small square where there was a small pub on one side. A large crowd started to gather and more people came running. A visit from their lord was a special thing, but the people were not in a cheery mood. They were here to see justice served. Ned had been here a few times over the years, on his way to somewhere, or when they stopped at Farmer Flint's home while hunting. Once he even had to serve justice here, on a thief the villagers had caught stealing some chickens. Ned told the thief it was his hands or the Wall and the man wisely chose the Wall. Benjen later told Ned the lad turned out to be a good ranger. Benjen used to jest that some of the best rangers had been thieves in their former lives, the thieving skills of scouting out a target and trying to be stealthy coming in handy north of the Wall.

Thinking of his missing brother made Ned morose and he could not have that today so put those thoughts from his mind. Ned stopped his horse by the pub and as he and his wife and the others dismounted, all the smallfolk got down on their knees.

"Rise, my good people," Ned said in his lord's voice and everyone stood. "We have come to learn the truth of what happened here. I will be in the pub. Those with words for me can come. First, the maester will see to the wounded man and the miller's wife." He turned to the old man. "Show him the way."

"Aye, my lord," said the old man and he started to lead the maester towards one of the houses. Then an old woman, who must have seen as near as many name days as Old Nan, spoke up.

"My lord, where is Maester Luwin?"

Ned had forgotten that they had known Maester Luwin. He had often traveled to the nearby villages when there had been a difficult birth or someone had been injured in an accident. Catelyn answered the woman in a voice that was full of sadness. "He is dead, my good woman. The ironmen killed him and many others at Winterfell."

That was a shock to the villagers and there was a babble of voices and more questions. The men that had come from the village to Winterfell told their people what they had seen and learned of the attack on the castle.

"We never even knew the ironmen were there until we caught that one and he went on about the ironmen at Winterfell," said Flint's son. He sounded guilty, as if they had done something wrong.

"What is done is done," Ned told them. "You could not have done anything. The ironmen would have killed any of you who tried to help the people of Winterfell. Now, let us get to the business at hand."

Ned and Catelyn entered the pub, the owner opening the door for them. It was a small pub, with only four tables and a bar with some kegs of ale and mead behind it, and clay jugs and mugs on a shelf. No wine was served here, Ned knew from past trips. He immediately went to a table and sat with Catelyn by his side. The pub owner poured them cups of mead and they thanked him. The mead tasted good and after a long drink to quench his thirst Ned looked to the pub owner. "Let us begin,"

After that the villagers came in, one at a time, and told what they knew. Some were a bit hesitant at first, but they all spoke on what they saw happen. And they all told pretty much the same story, the same as what he heard at Winterfell, so that by the time the eighth one had come and gone Ned had had enough.

"I think we have the truth of this now," Ned told Catelyn.

"Now we must needs speak to the miller's wife," she replied.

They found the old man outside and he took them to a house, the home of the miller's wife's mother, a widowed woman of the village, who still had a small garden and piece of land she farmed. The maester was there as was the mother, and the freshly widowed miller's wife Leslie was in bed. But when she knew Ned was in the house she rose, despite the protests of her mother.

"He is my lord, I must see him," they heard Leslie say, her voice weak. In a few moments she came from the bedroom and entered the small kitchen area. She was young, with brownish blond hair and well figured body. Her brown eyes were red from weeping and she moved slowly. The left side of her face was bruised from where her assailant had hit her. She had trouble walking and Ned felt a small twinge of guilt for being the reason she rose from her sick bed, but he had to get to the truth of all this. Maester William and her mother helped her sit opposite Ned and Catelyn at a rough, wooden kitchen table. Ned was about to speak but his wife started before he could.

"I am Lady Catelyn Stark," she told the girl in a gentle tone. "This is Lord Stark."

"Aye, my lady, my lord," said the girl, her voice hesitant.

"Leslie, we need the truth of what happened," Ned said in his lord's voice and Catelyn gave him a sharp look, which he knew meant he was being too stern. It was how his father had taught him and his brothers, how to talk to the smallfolk so they knew who was in charge. If you show doubt that you are the true ruler of these people, in voice or action, his father had said, they will doubt it as well and soon you will have more trouble that you can handle.

Ned raised his eyebrows, and then dipped his head slightly to his wife, and let her do the talking.

"What my husband means is, please tell us all you can…in your own words. Take your time."

She sniffled a bit. "It…was…I don't know. Must be three days ago now."

"Almost six," said her mother, and Ned could see she was red eyed as well. Then he suddenly knew something. Six days ago Theon Greyjoy had still been at Winterfell. If Ramsey Snow arrived at the mill then, Theon was no where nearby and Ramsey was lying about Theon's involvement, as they believed.

"Six? Yes, that sounds right," said the girl. "It was late. I was just putting dinner on the table…when he came."

She stopped, her eyes getting wide, and Ned could see the fear in them. He wanted to say something, but kept silent, and they waited for her to speak again.

"He knocked on the door," she said in a rush. "And Wallis…that's my…my…husband." She stopped for a moment, and a tear fell which she brushed away. "He answered the door. And like that…he was there, with a sword at Wallis' throat and that man was in our house."

"He threw a piece of rope at me…and made me tie Wallis' hands…behind his back, and pushed him to the floor and told him to stay there or he would kill us both." She sniffed some more, and a few more tears fell. "Then he sat at the table with me, and ate our food and made me eat as well. He drank our ale, too, and the whole time Wallis was on the floor. He told him where the coin was, and told him he could have all the food, anything he wanted. But then he looked at me, and I knew what he wanted. He tied me up and shoved me in the bedroom. After that…I don't remember much, that night at least."

"Tell us all you can," Catelyn said, with a reassuring pat on her hand.

"He…must have killed Wallis then," she said, and then cried some more. "Then he came at me. And…he…" But she shook her head and would not speak anymore.

Catelyn looked at her. "I understand." Then she looked at Ned and the maester. "Perhaps it best if you both wait outside."

"Aye," said Ned and then with a nod to the maester they went out. Outside some of the soldiers were waiting, the horses nearby. Ned looked at the sky and knew it was getting near to the dinner hour and would be dark soon after that. They might have to stay the night.

"How was the wounded man?" Ned asked the maester.

"He will live. He has a three inch gash on his upper left thigh. The villagers took good care of him. They gave him a strong poultice of nettles and bread mold, and even stitched it with some thread. He will have a scar but he won't lose the leg or his life."

"That is good to hear," Ned replied. "And the girl?"

The maester sighed. "She was violated, repeatedly. I have seen it before, in White Harbor when some drunken Myrish sailors raped a young girl. Lord Wyman had them all gelded before they were hung. Drunken men bent on rape take no care to be gentle with a woman. She will have pain for a while, but I think no permanent damage. They gave her moon tea so hopefully no bastards will be a result of this crime. Her bosom was bitten, as you said the men claimed. At least five times. They used a poultice on those wounds as well, and they should heal without corruption. But she will have scars. Inside as well."

"He's a beast," Ned said through gritted teeth.

"Aye," replied the maester.

"What makes a man so?"

William shrugged. "There are many theories among my kind. A blow to the head can derange a man. Some afflictions of the brain as well, fevers and such. And some men...some men are just evil, and only the gods know why."

As they stood there, thinking on this, Ned heard the sound of barking and the four dogs that had chased the girl were brought forth by the village men. Ned looked at the dogs closely but could not be sure if they were Farlen's or not. But one of his soldiers knew the dogs and confirmed they were from Winterfell. "We'll take them back with us," Ned told them.

Then the old man and Flint's son came with something wrapped in canvas. They lay it on the ground and opened it up. "The prisoner had them on him when he came into the village," Flint's son said. Ned told his men to wrap the objects up again and put them on his horse. Ned knew he would need these things to prove to Roose Bolton hat his son had done the murder, not Theon Greyjoy.

Ten minutes or so later Catelyn came out. "She told all she can, Ned."

"Was Theon the second man?" he asked her.

"Yes, by the sounds of it. She knows not how he was taken, but she awoke in the morning, tied to the bed, and she heard voices in the kitchen, two men talking. Then Ramsey came in and hit her and then the other man ran. Ramsey chased him. Later she was taken outside, naked, and she saw her husband dead and the second man hanging there beside him, and he looked unconscious. When I asked her if had had any markings on his clothing she said something yellow on his chest, but could not describe it well. Ramsey told her to run, that she was free to go, and so she ran, barefoot and naked to the village. And…well, you know the rest."

"Aye," said Ned. He knew what he had to do now. "Maester, is she fit to travel to Winterfell?"

"Maybe in a few more days, my lord," Maester William answered. "She cannot sit a horse and even a wagon ride may do her more harm."

"Then we will wait," Ned said. "In a few days or week or whenever, we will have a trial for Ramsey Snow. She must be a witness against him. Cat, can she do it?"

"I don't know," Catelyn replied. "She is here in her mother's home and she feels safe, for the moment. But in Winterfell, in front of many people, facing him, and Roose as well…she may falter."

"Then we will help her and make sure she does not falter," Ned answered. He looked to the sky. "I think it is too late in the day to return." He looked at the nearby soldiers, waiting for his orders. "Let us make camp on the village outskirts and prepare our supper. We are staying the night."

As the men moved to obey, the old man and Flint's son and others nearby heard this. They offered their homes and beds and food, but Ned begged them all off, saying he could not honor one family without offending the others, and that they needed their food, for winter was coming.

The villagers did provide them with some tables and benches and firewood, for which Ned thank them. He also bought some mead and ale from the pub for his men, shoving the coins into the pub owner's hands when the man tried to refuse to take his money. After they had eaten and the sky was growing dark, Maester William said he had promised the people of the village to see to their hurts and ailments and went off to set up shop in one of the houses.

Ned sat at a table with Catelyn outside of their tent, him sipping on a mug of mead while she drank some mulled wine which they had brought from Winterfell.

"He must die," Catelyn said suddenly in the silence between them.

"Aye," Ned said wearily. "He must."

The night proved to be cold and the next morning as the dawn broke with a crisp fresh cleanliness, the sky a deep rich northern blue, Ned stepped from his tent and saw frost on the ground. The villagers were all up and scrambling to remove the last vegetables from their gardens before the frost could ruin them. Ned ordered his men up to help them. Soon after that was done they had a quick breakfast and were on their way back to Winterfell. Ned left orders for Leslie and the other witnesses to come to Winterfell in a few days time, when she was fit to travel. The old man and Flint's son promised they would be there.

Winterfell greeted them warmly when they returned. Robb and the Greatjon told them there was no news from Roose Bolton yet and that all else was as it was before they had left. Robb had a raven message for Ned from White Harbor. Lord Manderly promised to send the things they asked for, and also wondered when he could get his maester back. Ned chuckled over that, and told Maester William. Ned knew White Harbor had a least one other maester, and could easily get another by ship before Winterfell could replace William. They still only had the one bird for White Harbor so decided to let it rest for a day or two before sending a reply.

After the noon hour a guard came and found Ned helping with the rebuilding of the winter town. He said the ironmen prisoners they had taken at Moat Cailin wished to speak with him.

Ned found Robb and they went to the cells below the armory soon after. There were only six cells, three on each side of a stone corridor. The cells were all solid stone with heavy iron doors that had a small barred window to let in air and some light. The two ironmen that had come to Winterfell as prisoners were in the first cell on the left. Next to it was the one with Theon's squire Wex. The cell at the far end on the right held Ramsey Snow, back in his old cage.

The gaoler opened the ironman's cell. Inside were Gerald Pyke and the man named Codd that had cursed Pyke back when they had been captured. Both men had chains on their feet but their hands were free. They were sitting on the floor, opposite each other, backs leaning against the stone walls. The floor was covered in dry rushes, and a latrine pail was sitting in the corner. There were no blankets or other creature comforts, but the cells were warm due to the hot springs under the castle. The two ironmen blinked as the sudden light from the corridor's torches filled their cell.

"You asked to see me?" Ned said to them as they stood up from the floor, making a clanking noise as the chains on their feet moved. Robb was right behind him, his hand on his sword, and three guards were in the hallway nearby, plus two more were outside Ramsey's door a short distance away.

"I asked for you, Lord Stark," said Pyke. "When we laid down arms you promised us honest work if we promised not to escape. I will make that promise to you. I know your castle has been damaged. I will do labor to repair it."

"I as well," said Codd.

Ned thought on it for a moment. The two men were big and strong to be sure, and they could use some extra hands with the work. And it would be justice, as their brethren had done the damage. But he had another worry.

"Theon Greyjoy and his men burnt Winterfell and killed some of my people. My people have no love for your kind at the moment, maybe not ever again. They will not welcome you kindly."

Codd snorted. "There is no need to honey your words, Lord Stark. They hate us, you mean."

"Aye, they hate you."

"I am tired of this cell," Pyke said, his weary eyes fixed on Ned's. "It has only been a few days and now I know that a man will go mad if he stays in such a place for long. I need to feel the wind on my face and the sun on my brow, at least for a bit each day. I will not run, nor will Codd. We will swear it on the Drowned God himself."

"Best not make that oath in front of my mother or any others," Robb said in anger. "Your lot drowned our septon when they was here, drowned him to honor your god."

"The Seven are…" Codd started in anger but Pyke snarled at him. "Hold your tongue for once in your life, Codd!" Codd glared at him but kept silent, and Pyke turned back to the Starks. "We will keep our prayers silent and our opinions to ourselves. We will not run. And if we do, then you may have our heads."

"Aye, we will," said Ned in his grim voice. "And you will keep your chains on your legs until I say otherwise." He turned to the guards. "Take these two to the winter town and tell the Greatjon to put them to work sawing timbers and shaping bricks. Tell him to make sure he keeps a guard on them at all times."

"Aye, my lord," said the guard.

Pyke and Codd shuffled out of their cell, gave thanks to Ned, and then were soon gone, their leg chains clanking as they walked up the stairs to the sun and air above. Ned could sympathize with them, a small bit. After being in the black cells of King's Landing Ned knew what the sun and wind meant to a man who could feel neither for days on end.

After that Robb meant to leave as well, but Ned asked him to stay, and then turned to the cell where the boy Wex was. It was time they tried to communicate with him, if it were possible.

"Open his cell," Ned said to one of the remaining guards. After it was done Ned and Robb entered the cell, Robb with a torch in his hand for light. He put the torch in a bracket on the wall and then Ned told him to close the door behind them and he did so. The boy Wex was standing there. He had no chains on his feet, and looked them in the eye, and did not seem afraid.

"Wex, is it?" Ned asked and the boy nodded his head, a wary look in his eyes now, no doubt wondering what these men, his enemies, wanted. Ned knew the boy could at least hear and understand words.

"I am Lord Stark and this is my son Robb. Wex, I am going to say what I think happened to you and the others. You just nod 'yes' or 'no'. Understand?"

Wex nodded 'yes', the wary look still there.

"Good," Ned said. "First, Theon has escaped us…for now. I would like to know what happened in the Wolfswood. There were three other men and you with Theon and the kennel master and his dogs, according to what we were told when we arrived here. But Theon and the kennel master were not with you and the three men when Lord Bolton found you. Did you part company with Theon somewhere?"

Wex nodded and Ned continued. "Was there an argument?"

Again the squire nodded. "Was it near a stream?' Again a nod for 'yes'. "The other men wanted to leave here, go to Deepwood Motte?" Another nod. "And Theon would not go, not without my sons as hostage?" Again a nod came from the boy.

Then Robb spoke up. "Did the other men attack Theon and the kennel master?" A shake of the head. No.

Ned asked the next question. "Did they leave the first day after you went searching?"

A nod for 'yes'. "Did you see another man?" Robb quickly asked, and Ned knew he meant Ramsey Snow. Wex shook his head 'no'. "Were you near a mill?" Robb asked and again a shake of the head.

"After you left Theon you headed to the west?" Ned asked and Wex nodded. "Then some men found you?" Another nod. "And you fought?" This time a shake of the head.

"Roose said the ironmen fought except for him," Robb reminded his father.

"You did not fight?" Ned asked the squire and Wex nodded. "The other men fought?" Wex shook his head and then made a motion like he was sleeping, and then drew two fingers across his throat and both Ned and Robb knew what that meant.

Ned snorted. "They found your companions sleeping and cut their throats." Wex nodded.

"Where were you when this happened?" Robb quickly asked and Ned was about to say he could not answer such a question when Wex made a motion like he was pissing and Ned understood.

"He went to piss and they cut the others' throats in their sleep," Ned surmised. "Roose said they had made a fire and were cooking rabbit. Were you?"

Again Wex nodded and pointed to himself. "Aye," Ned said, and looked to Robb. "He was cooking the rabbit, while the others rested. He went to take a piss and then Bolton's men were on the others and killed them."

Wex was shaking his head violently. He held up two fingers, made the cutting motion across his throat again.

"They only killed two in their sleep?" Ned asked and Wex nodded. "What happened to the third man?"

Wex gulped and his eyes grew big. Then he placed the index finger on his right hand on his chest and made a sign like an "X".

"What's that?" Robb asked and Wex did it again, and then he spread his arm and legs wide and opened his mouth wide as if he was screaming, but no sound came out.

With sudden clarity Ned knew what had happened. "They flayed the third man." Wex nodded vigorously, his eyes still wide. Wex had been making the House Bolton sigil on his chest, the sign of the flayed man with arms and legs splayed like the shape of an "X".

"What did he tell them?" Robb asked and then realized Wex could not say so he reformed his question. "Did Lord Bolton ask the third man about Theon?" A shake of the head. "About Theon's sister and Deepwood Motte?" Another shake of the head. "About things happening on the Iron Islands?" A third shake of the head.

Then Ned knew. "Roose did not ask him any questions. He flayed him for the sport of it."

With that last Wex nodded. Ned could see it now. The boy was in ropes on the ground as Roose and his men strung up his companion and ripped his skin from his body and the man begged for death. Ned was sure if Wex hadn't had that piss before being caught he would have pissed himself in fear.

"Why did they let him live?" Robb asked his father next.

"To prove he had found those others. Once he knew the boy was a mute, Roose perhaps had no need to fear his crime being reported. Or maybe he just does not care."

"What will you do now?"

Ned looked at Wex and back to his son. "We will talk on it later." He looked back at Wex. "Do you want to go outside, do some work?"

Wex nodded his head vigorously. "You promise not to run?" Again a vigorous nod.

"Guards," Ned called out after he opened the door. A man appeared in the doorway. "Yes, my lord?"

"Take this one to the Greatjon and tell him to put him to work as he sees fit."

"Aye, my lord."

"And remind the Greatjon the boy is a mute but understands words well enough."

"Aye, my lord. Come boy."

Wex and the guard left and then another guard closed the cell door as Ned and Robb came out of it. They were about to leave the cell block when a voice came from the far end.

"Is that you Lord Stark?" Ramsey Snow called out.

Ned and Robb walked down there where two guards were standing by the door. Ramsey Snow had his face pressed against the bars on the small window. He chained hands grasped the bars.

"What do you want?" Ned asked in his lord's voice.

"When is my father coming?"

"Soon," Robb answered with an edge of anger in his voice. "And then justice will be served."

"Kill me and my father will never forgive you Starks," Ramsey told them, as if Ned did not know that already.

"Aye, maybe," Ned replied. "But the people of the North will know justice has been served. Your father is but one man. Your people few compared to the strength of the North. I will be sure to remind him of all that when he arrives."

"If I am found guilty," Ramsey said with a small smirk on his fat lips. "Theon Greyjoy killed the miller and that old man, I told you. Raped his wife. I saved her."

"No," Ned said with a shake of his head. "We've talked to her. You killed her husband. You raped her. I don't know how Theon fits into all this, but he was there. Strung up by his arms in the yard next to the miller. All that matters not since you killed two of the villagers and there are many witnesses to that crime."

"I was defending myself!" Ramsey snarled at them through the bars. "Every man has a right to defend himself!"

"Aye," Ned replied. "That they do. The villagers defended themselves and the miller's wife from you and those hounds. They will all swear to it."

"They all lie! They attacked me first!"

"That is for a trial to decide. Best prepare yourself. If you are guilty, you will die. If there is any god you believe in, it is time to say a few prayers."

Ned and Robb turned to leave when Ramsey shouted one more thing. "I will take the black!" His voice had a sound of desperation to it.

Ned turned back and looked at him. "The Wall has its share of murderers and rapists. No doubt you would find good company there. But I think even the Wall is no place for a cur such as yourself. You would only desert or cause some other mischief. I will not inflict you upon the good men of the Night's Watch."

"My father will avenge me!' Ramsey shouted as they departed.

"Will he avenge him if we execute Ramsey?" Robb asked as they emerged from the cells to the clear skies above.

"Perhaps," his father replied. "Roose and I must have a long talk when he arrives."

Arrive he did, the next day before the noon hour, with a strong escort of two hundred of his men, the rest having continued on to the Dreadfort. Roose Bolton was no sooner off his horse and made a polite but restrained greeting to Ned by the East Gate when he asked to see his son. Ned showed him the way to the cells and told Roose to come to his solar when he was finished.

Ned told Catelyn and Robb to keep all others away when he was talking to Roose Bolton. Cat had a worried look in her eye.

"I don't like you being alone with him."

"He is not so wreckless as to attack me in the midst of Winterfell and all my people."

"No…but be careful. He is not to be trusted."

"Aye," Ned told her, and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze before she left.

Twenty minutes later Robb escorted Roose Bolton to Ned's solar, and then Robb stepped outside the door, and Ned knew his son would stay there, keeping an ear on the door. Ned poured two cups of wine and bid Roose to sit. He looked tired and travel worn. Roose sat and took the offered cup of wine.

Roose asked him what had happened and Ned explained it all. "What did Ramsey say about these matters?" Ned asked when he finished.

"That he is innocent, my lord," Roose replied in his quiet voice after a sip of wine.

"Others say different."

Roose nodded. "Of course they do. My son claims Theon Greyjoy did the crimes he is accused of. Have you found Greyjoy?"

"No. But we know Greyjoy was there. We found a burnt surcoat with the kraken sigil at the miller's house. Theon is the only ironman unaccounted for."

"Then perhaps my son tells the truth."

"The miller's wife says otherwise."

"She saw Ramsey kill her husband?"

"No…but he raped her," Ned told him, trying to control his anger. "And chewed on her flesh like a rabid dog."

"She was distraught. She may have confused who was attacking her."

He was grasping at straws, Ned knew. Thinking of any way to save his son, trying to cast doubts. "The villagers are not confused," Ned said next. "The woman came running naked into their midst and the hounds and Ramsey soon followed. He killed two men and wounded a third."

"He claims they attacked him first. His face is bruised, his lips cut, two teeth are missing."

"Aye, after they overcame him they beat him."

"They beat a lord's son. Smallfolk. Why are they not in chains as well…my lord?" Roose asked in a dangerous tone.

"Because they did no crime, Roose. They defended the woman and themselves."

"Their word against Ramsey's."

"I'll take their word any day over a man who has done the things your son has done."

"If you are referring to this Hornwood business, we had agreed that I would decide Ramsey's punishment."

"That was before," Ned told him. "This is too much, Roose, and you know it. I have heard you always demand a peaceful land and a quiet people in your domain. Is that not so?"

"It is," Roose admitted.

"So do I. There is not one law for lords and another for smallfolk, Roose. The law is the law for all the people of the North. I am the Warden of the North and I will see justice done here."

"Cersei Lannister stripped you of your titles."

Ned snorted, struggling to control his anger. "King Stannis has reinstated them. You left before the news arrived."

Roose's pale grey eyes fixed Ned with a deadly stare. "You mean to kill my son."

Ned stared back. "If a trial finds him guilty, he will be judged according to his crimes. The penalty for murder is death."

"There is always the Wall. There are plenty of murderers up there. And more than one bastard." That was another dig at Ned, but he let it go. "But Ramsey said you even refused to consider that notion."

"Aye."

"He is my heir, Eddard. You would kill my heir?"

"If he is found guilty. Even if I send him to the Wall, Roose, he will no longer be your heir."

"He is still of my blood. It will grieve me if he dies. He is all I have left of my line."

"Then start a new line," Ned advised him.

Now there was doubt in Roose's eyes. "A new line?"

"You are not so old not to be able to foster new sons and daughters on a new wife."

Roose almost grinned but then had a shrewd look in his eye. "A new wife. From where would this fertile lady come from? One of your daughters perhaps? Your youngest is betrothed but your eldest has no suitors at present."

Ned had not expected this and it threw him for a moment. There was no way in hell he would let Sansa marry this man. He knew his face betrayed his thoughts, but did not care, and pressed on. "I was thinking one of Walder Frey's brood. He has plenty of daughters and granddaughters I am sure he wishes to be rid of. He will pay a nice dowry as well."

Roose gave a small chuckle. "Have it all figured it have you…my lord. Kill my son and hope I will sate my anger with a buxom new bride?"

"Roose…do you love him?"

Now Ned knew he caught Roose by surprise. His pale grey eyes flickered away for a moment and he drank some more wine. Then he looked at Ned. "Could you love a mad dog?"

"No."

"Neither could I. But he is my blood. I cannot allow him to die."

Now Ned knew he had to say what he did not want to say. "The whole North knows Ramsey killed your true son."

"There was no proof," Roose said flatly, but Ned could see more doubts in his eyes.

"Aye, maybe not. But you know it to be true. In your heart."

"Perhaps."

"Roose…with Ramsey alive there will never be peace and quiet in your lands or the rest of the North. Already the Hornwoods and White Harbor hate your people for what he has done. Lord Umber has never had any love for the Dreadfort either. As for Winterfell and the other lords, we are tired of these disturbances and desire peace as well."

"It sounds like you are threatening me and mine, Lord Stark."

"Only advising you, Roose. We were ready to isolate the Karstarks for going against the North. The same can be done to the Dreadfort."

"I have always obeyed the law and given my support to your causes. I fought your son's battle on the Green Fork and lost many a good man, to help free you and your daughters from the Lannisters. This is how I am rewarded?"

Ned ignored the last part of his comment. "Obey our laws, is it? What happened with the ironmen you found in the Wolfswood?"

That was unexpected, but Bolton recovered from his slight surprise and shrugged. "They fought and died. Why do you ask?"

"I have heard you flayed one of them," Ned said in a calm voice.

"Flaying is outlawed. I did no such thing. Who has accused me? That gutter rat I let live? He's a mute. How can he tell you anything?"

All lies Ned knew, but let it go, knowing his point had been made. "Perhaps I was misinformed. But crimes such as your son committed are not to be tolerated. He must be punished."

"It sounds like you already believe he is guilty."

"There will be a trial, where all can see the evidence and you can decide yourself."

"Who will judge?"

"Only myself, as is tradition."

Roose said nothing, drained his cup of wine and stood. Ned stood as well.

"I will speak for and defend my son," Roose told him. "I want to question these witnesses myself."

"Aye, as you wish," said Ned, knowing he would want that, and then Roose left him.

The trial was held three days later in the afternoon, a cloudy, chilly, cheerless day outside. It seemed as if the whole village had come the night before to get the justice they demanded. They and many of Winterfell's people gathered in the great hall, crowding the benches and leaning against the walls. Ned sat at the high table in the lord's chair, with Robb on one side, and Maester William on the other, parchment and ink and quills before him to record the event. Lord Umber, Catelyn, Roslin, and the rest of Ned's children, except Rickon, who was too young for such things, were sitting at a lower table in the front of the crowd, while Roose Bolton and two of his captains sat at a lower table to the right. Ned saw many familiar faces in the crowd, Gage the cook, Osha, Gendry and Mikken, Old Nan and Hodor, the new steward Samson, Jeyne Poole, and many others.

The crowd was mostly quiet until the prisoner was brought into the hall in chains. Many of the villagers gave him dirty looks and shouted curses at him and Ned had to have his guards pound their spear butts on the floor to restore order. Ramsey was placed in a chair by his father's table and two Winterfell guards stood by him the whole time.

Ned presented the charges against the accused first. "Ramsey Snow, you are accused of rape and murder. The punishment for these crimes is death." Then Ned proceeded to give the bare facts of the case, just who had died and been attacked, when, and how. He called the first witness against Ramsey and so it began, with Ned questioning the witnesses and Roose asking many questions as well.

Maester William was first. He presented evidence on the wounds to Farlen's body, wounds to the miller's wife, and the fact that she had been raped repeatedly. Roose asked about the other dead men, but the miller and Flint and the other men had already been buried so the maester had no evidence for their wounds.

The miller's wife Leslie was the next witness. She still had trouble walking, and had to sit in a chair when she gave her testimony. The whole time Ramsey was glaring at her, like he wanted to kill him. She would not look at him. She said all that she had told them in the village about what happened the first night when Ramsey came to her home. Her voice was quavering at times, but she did not falter from her story, even as Roose tried to poke holes in it. When finally Ned asked her who had raped her, she looked at Ramsey at last and pointed a finger.

"Him," she said in a strong clear voice.

"Lying bitch!" Ramsey snarled and the hall erupted into outrage that took a minute to subside and Ned had to warn Ramsey to be silent unless questioned.

Ned asked her next if she knew who had killed her husband and she said Ramsey as well, but Roose soon got her to admit that she had not actually seen Ramsey kill him. Ramsey smirked after he heard this, and then Ned asked her about the second man at the mill, and his smirk disappeared.

"I woke up in the morning," Leslie said, her voice still strong. "Tied to my bed. I heard him, that one, talking to someone."

"What did they talk about?" Ned asked.

"Something about dogs…and how he had his own dogs at some fort, and he liked to have sport with them. Then I heard him talk about flaying. I don't know what that is, my lord. He said your name once…don't know why. Then he came into the bedroom, shouting at me again, and I saw another man, in the kitchen, get up from the floor and run out the door. This one, Ramsey, chased him and I heard him cursing at him, shouting very loudly, from outside. After a while he came back, took me outside…wouldn't let me dress, though I begged him, and I saw them…Wallis…and the other man, hanging from the tree." She gave a small whimper after she said this.

"What did the second man look like?" Ned asked.

She took a few seconds to collect herself and then spoke. She proceeded to describe Theon and many in the crowd gave knowing nods, having seen him here so recently. "Also, on his chest was a yellow sigil. I don't know what it was. Something with many arms."

The burnt surcoat was produced and Ned had Robb take it to her and show her and she nodded. "Aye, that was it." He showed it to Roose as well and he only nodded, and then Robb returned to the high table.

Then Leslie talked about how she ran to the village and the dogs were chasing her, and finally she came to the village and she described what happened there. After she was finished the villagers were called, one by one, and told their stories of how Ramsey had killed two of their men, and what they found at the mill when they searched it. Again Roose questioned them but they stuck to their stories. They even established a time line that proved that Theon was still at Winterfell when the miller and his wife received their late night visitor.

After that Ned had the assistant kennel master come out and tell them that the dogs that chased Leslie to the village were Farlen's dogs. Roose had no questions for the man.

"Bring out the swords," Ned then told one of his soldiers. At the same time he called the old man from the village back to the front. Ned flicked his eyes to Ramsey, and he now saw doubt there. He has forgotten about the swords, Ned now knew.

Two swords were brought out, wrapped in canvas, the objects Ned had seen at the village. They were placed on a small table in front of the high table. One was plain, a common soldier's sword. The other was ornate, and had a well-crafted blade and sword pommel, with some intricate scroll work and etchings. On the pommel was a kraken symbol, etched into the metal, and colored gold.

"These swords were given to me by the people of the village when I went there a few days past to investigate this matter," Ned told the assemblage and then he turned to the old man. "Where did you get these swords?" Ned asked.

"The prisoner had the two of them on him when he came to our village, my lord. He used the fancy one to kill our men." There was still dried blood on the blade, Ned knew.

Five more men testified to this same thing before Roose said enough, he would agree that Ramsey brought the swords to the village.

"They lie, Father!" Ramsey said, his eyes bulging. "I never had those swords!"

"Be silent," Roose said in a voice that Ned barely heard. Roose walked up to the swords, looked at them, and held up the ornate one, looking at the pommel. "A kraken. Greyjoy's sword." He put the sword down, went back and sat at his table, not looking at his son at all.

Ned called Mikken to come forward. The blacksmith came to the front and dipped his head. "My lord."

"Mikken, do you recognize these swords?" Ned asked him.

"Aye, my lord. I made the two of them. There is my maker's mark." He pointed to his symbol etched into the blade near the pommel of each sword.

"Show it to Lord Bolton," Ned commanded. Mikken picked up the ornate sword and carried it to Roose, who looked at the mark and then nodded.

"Who did you make this sword for?" Roose asked Mikken.

"Theon Greyjoy, my lord. About three years ago, for his name day. On orders from Lord Stark. That was before we knew what a traitorous bastard Theon Turncoat was." The hall erupted in a loud murmuring as Mikken returned the sword to the small table and took his seat again.

"How did this sword come into your possession?" Ned asked Ramsey.

"They all lie!" Ramsey shouted, his eyes on fire. "I never had it. Greyjoy did, at the mill. He fought me with it. They must have found it there after taking me prisoner."

"Why would Theon leave his sword?" Ned asked.

"How should I know?" Ramsey said in a voice full of defiance, not seeming to care at all that he was at Ned's mercy.

Then Ned told Roose Bolton he could present his defense for Ramsey. The weight of evidence was strong against Ramsey, Roose admitted, but it was all the work of Theon Greyjoy, not his son. Ramsey testified to what he claimed had happened, that Theon had done the rape and murder, and that Ramsey had fought him, but Theon was too good a swordsman so Ramsey had fled. When he got to the village the people there attacked him and he had only defended himself.

Roose argued that there was no evidence Ramsey killed the miller, and that the death of the two villagers was an act of self-defense. Ramsey smirked, thinking he was going to get away with maybe just a rape charge. Ned could have his head for that, but it would be a bad precedent to set, as most rapists were sent to the Wall.

When Roose was finished and had sat again Ned made a statement of the facts.

"I think I know what happened now," Ned told the assemblage. "Ramsey Snow claims Theon Greyjoy did this, but by the evidence we heard, Theon was still at Winterfell when the miller and his wife were attacked. It is now clear that Ramsey killed the miller, raped his wife, and the next day he found Theon and Farlen the kennel master by their fire. He killed Farlen, took his dogs, and then took Theon hostage, hoping to bring him here to get a pardon for his crimes against Lady Hornwood, as he claims. The miller's wife said she heard two men talking in the morning. When she ran away she saw a second man hanging in the tree, with a yellow symbol on his black surcoat. The Greyjoy kraken. The two ropes hanging from the tree were cut with a knife. Farmer Flint's knife, when he found them there. He came along after Ramsey Snow chased the miller's wife for his sport, with the dogs, Farlen's dogs. No doubt Theon killed Farmer Flint, to make his escape from these lands. Flint's horse, knife, and cudgel are missing. Theon needed the horse to get away quickly and the weapons because he had no sword, because Ramsey took it. Ramsey chased the miller's wife to the village, he attacked the villagers when they tried to stop him, killing two and wounding one."

"LIES! ALL LIES!" Ramsey yelled, his face twisted in a demonic, hideous sneer, and at the same time he rose from his chair and strode quickly as his leg irons allowed towards the two swords on the small table. But before he got that far one of the guards struck him from behind with his spear butt and Ramsey went crashing to the floor with a groan and a clank of chains.

Roose sat in his chair the whole time and did nothing, his face impassive, his pale grey eyes showing no emotion.

Ned looked to the guards. "Pick him up." They lifted Ramsey and turned him to face Ned.

Ned stood and stared at Ramsey, and then spoke in his lord's commanding voice for all to hear. "Ramsey Snow. I find you guilty of the crimes of rape and murder. I, Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, in the name of King Stannis Baratheon, the first of his name, sentence you to death."

There was a wild shout of joy from the villagers and Winterfell people. Ned ventured a look at Roose, who still stayed in his chair, his face showing the same impassive look, as if he didn't care anymore. He did not even rise to try to plead for Ramsey's life, to at least have him sent to the Wall. Roose knew Ned would not allow that. He knew that he was alone. The North had had enough of the Bastard of the Dreadfort. It was time to end him. Now.

Then, as the noise quieted some, Ned heard Ramsey say something. He was looking straight at Ned, but Ned still had trouble hearing him. Finally, he could make out the words.

"I demand trial by combat," Ramsey said. Ned raised his hands for silence and in a moment it was quiet.

"The prisoner has demanded trial by combat," he told them and a shocked silence followed. Then the Greatjon stood and spoke in his loud rumbling voice.

"He has had his trial, Lord Stark! He has been found guilty! Let us be done with this mad dog once and for all!" Again loud cheers came from the people. Only Cat was quiet, a worried look on her face.

Now Roose bestirred himself, standing, and soon it was quiet again. He made his voice loud enough to be heard by all. "Trial by combat is any condemned man's right, Lord Stark. To be judged before the gods is his right, by all the laws of the Seven Kingdoms."

Ned knew he was right. He could not refuse Ramsey's demand. "Aye," he replied and a collective groan came from the crowd. He stared at Ramsey, his look cold and hard. "You shall have your trial by combat." Again there were shouts, this time for Ramsey's blood.

"I would name a champion!" Ramsey shouted at the top of his voice. Silence filled the hall.

"That is your right," Ned told him. "Who would you name?"

"My father!" Ramsey told him in a loud voice with that smirk on his face again. "Lord Roose Bolton of the Dreadfort."

In the shocked silence that followed all eyes were on Roose. He stared at his son, his grey eyes pale full of surprise, and Ned knew that this had not been planned between father and son. Ned also knew that much now depended on Lord Bolton's reaction. If Roose stood for Ramsey, only one man could fight him, to represent Winterfell and the justice of the North. And that was Ned himself. He saw Cat looking at him, her face filled with anxiety. He felt Robb at his side, full of nervous energy, ready to explode at any moment. Ned knew he could defeat and kill Ramsey. His father…he was not so sure.

But he also knew that if Roose killed him, the North would not stand for it. Robb and the Greatjon and the others would never let Bolton or his son or his men leave here alive. It would go against the laws of the land, but Ned knew his people. He knew they would demand the heads of Roose and his son. Cat would demand it as well, and to hell with the laws. Ned looked at Roose, and he could see on his face that Roose was thinking hard, weighing the options, and perhaps knew all this to be true as well. The only question was would he risk it all for a bastard son who may have killed his own true son.

Roose finally spoke, directly to Ramsey. "I never begrudged you your entertainments," Roose said to his son. "But you carried them too far. A peaceful land, a quiet people is all I ask for. These are my desires. Now you ask me to champion you in a trial by combat? You have sown this harvest. You shall reap its rewards. I have done all I can here. I will not be your champion."

It was almost as if a collective breath of air was released from all those inside the great hall of Winterfell. Ramsey's face was in shock. He then snarled at his father. "As you wish…Father." The last word was dripping with contempt for his sire. "I will defend myself." He then turned to Ned. "Who is Winterfell's champion?"

"I will be the one to fight this dog!" the Greatjon bellowed and more cheers rang out.

"No, Lord Umber," Ned said loudly. "No lords shall involve themselves in this matter."

More men rose and shouted that they would be the champion, and as Ned considered who to select, a voice beside him spoke. "I will do this, Father."

Ned closed his eyes and sighed. He turned to Robb. "No…" But Ramsey had heard him and shouted.

"AYE! I will fight Robb Stark for my life!"

A silence filled the hall again. Catelyn and Roslin had both gone pale, Roslin clutching Catelyn's arm, tears in her eyes, shaking her head no. Arya's face was filled with anger, and Bran looked like he was in shock. Sansa just stared at her father, her blue eyes wide, as did everyone else, holding their breath, waiting for him to speak. Ned weighed his options, knowing he could refuse to let Robb do it, as heir of Winterfell, but also knowing he could not very well ask other men to stand and face Ramsey if he would not let his son do the same. Roose was staring at him intently, knowing this as well. And there was no way to know if another man would defeat Ramsey. Robb had trained for battle all his life, was a proven warrior in combat. He would defeat Ramsey and give the people the justice they demanded. Ned decided.

"So be it," Ned told them, and there was a collective gasp and groan from the crowd. "They will fight on the morrow. To the death."


	43. Chapter 43 Arya

**Ned Stark Lives! Chapter 43 Arya**

"Was it bad?" Gendry asked Arya, as he took a horseshoe out of the hot coals of the forge and then pounded on it with his hammer on the anvil. Sparks flew as his hammer hit it.

"Very bad," she told him with a heavy sigh. "My father told me and Sansa and Bran to leave. My mother wouldn't stop shouting at my father, and Roslin was in tears. Only Robb was calm."

"Guess he has to be if he wants to win tomorrow," Gendry replied as he stuck the hot horseshoe in the water trough where it caused steam to rise as the water hissed.

"He'll kill him," Arya said with a sense of certainty, but at the same time she could not help but worry.

They were at the forge, just before the supper hour, and thirty minutes after the trial of Ramsey Snow ended in shock and chaos. As soon as Ramsey was dragged off to his cell again, with plenty of people shouting for his head, his father and the two Bolton captains left without another word and went to their camp outside the walls of Winterfell. Arya had been as surprised as everyone at the results of the trial. She had expected Ramsey to be found guilty, but not that he would demand trial by combat. And then Robb had volunteered to be Winterfell's champion, and her father had agreed. Soon after Bolton left Arya's mother had marched straight up to her father and started in on him, quietly at first, and then louder as the great hall cleared of people. Arya could still hear her words, pleading with him to pick another champion. That's when her father told them to leave. Hodor had hung back and picked up Bran and then they left the great hall. Arya had ignored Sansa and Bran's prattling on about what had happened and marched straight to the smithy where Gendry, Mikken, and little Tim were already back at work.

"I still don't know why he's letting Robb fight Ramsey," she said. "Anybody else can do it."

"Not to worry, my lady," said Mikken as he came out of the back of the smithy. Mikken picked up a shovel and took some coal from a nearby bin and filled the forge again. Little Tim was at the bellows and Mikken nodded to him to get pumping. Then Mikken leaned on his shovel and looked at Arya. "Lord Robb has been trained to fight all his life. He'll put his steel in that one and that will be the end of it. Mark my words."

Arya knew he was right. Robb was a trained warrior, had killed men in battle, in the Whispering Wood, at Riverrun, on the road to the Twins, at Moat Cailin, and in the battles with the ironmen near Winterfell. But he was heir to Winterfell and as Arya well knew, anything could happen in battle. Why would her father risk him?

"It's still stupid," she said, unable to hide the anger in her voice. "Mother was right. Anyone can fight him. I can fight him." As she said this her hand went to where Needle usually was, but now it was back in her room in a sheath, hanging on a wall from a peg. So were her boy's clothes, and now she wore a brown woolen dress and nice shoes that were now covered in mud. Her face was clean and so were her hands for a change. When they had finally had a free moment to bathe when they returned to Winterfell, Arya had soaked in the hot water for over an hour and the skin on her hands and feet was like a dried grape when she was done.

Gendry looked up from his work after her comment about fighting Ramsey Snow. He stared at her, a worried look in his eyes. "Put that thought out of your mind right now."

Arya knew he was right, and felt glad that he worried about her, and gave him a little nod and a slight grin. "It's gone."

"You listen to the lad, my lady," Mikken quickly added. "He knows what's best. I know you got a taste for blood with your little Needle while on the road home. I heard all about how you and the lad here killed them ironmen near Seagard."

"Saved my life, they did," said Tim as he pumped the bellows, getting the coals in the forge red hot.

"That they did," Mikken agreed, and then he looked back at Arya. "But this is your brother's fight. He asked for it, your father gave the word, so let the men get on with it on the morrow."

"I was just saying that Robb's too important to risk in this fight," Arya replied with a bit of worry in her voice. "He's the heir of Winterfell!"

"Your father must have his reasons," Gendry replied as he shoved the horseshoe back in the hot coals.

"I'll tell you why he's letting Lord Robb fight him," Mikken said next. "Cause when he kills that scum Ramsey Snow, there's nothing Lord Bolton can do about it. Any other man kills him, even the Greatjon, then Lord Bolton's got to think, that man killed my son, I think I'm going to kill him now. Or some day in the not too distant future. See what I mean? But Lord Robb…he daren't touch him or the whole of the North would march on the Dreadfort and crush the whole lot of them skin flaying miserable curs."

"Maybe," said Arya, still not quite convinced. Perhaps that's why his father said Robb could fight. Or maybe he had other reasons. But her mother hadn't agreed at all and Roslin was none too happy about it either.

Gendry took the horseshoe out of the coals again and pounded on it with his hammer.

"Whose horse is it for?" Arya asked him, wanting to get her mind off the fight that was to come.

"One of Lord Umber's knights," he replied as he dipped it in the cool water again and the water hissed and steamed. He took it out after a few seconds and held it up and looked at it closely, the hot metal slowly cooling and changing color as he did so. "That's done it." He set it aside on the anvil to let it cool some more.

"How do you know it will fit?" Tim asked as he stepped away from the bellows and looked at the cooling horseshoe. "The horse ain't here anymore."

"First thing I learned to do in King's Landing was how to fit a shoe to a horse," Gendry answered. "Now I just have to look at the hoof once, and I know how to shape it right."

"I still can't believe you 'prenticed for old Tobho Mott," Mikken said to Gendry as he wiped the coal dust from his hands with a wet rag.

"Do you know him?" Arya asked the master smith.

"Know of him," Mikken replied. "Never met the man. But in our trade he has quite the reputation. He made armor and swords for many of them lords and knights in the capital. And now I got one of his 'prentices." He looked at Gendry carefully. "You had a good set up there, lad. What put it in your head to join the Night's Watch anyways?"

Gendry and Arya gave each other a quick look. When Gendry had first been handed over to Mikken when they came back to Winterfell, Mikken had questioned him closely, and Arya had advised Gendry not to tell any tall tales because if Mikken later found out the truth it would not be good. Besides, a lot of people already knew Gendry, Arya, and her father had traveled together from King's Landing with the Night's Watch group. But they couldn't tell him he was King Robert's son and that Master Mott had receive a warning from the Spider for Gendry to flee the capital because Joffrey was trying to kill all his supposed father's natural children. At least that's what her father said had happened.

"Master Mott kicked me out, I told you already," Gendry answered, not looking at Mikken as he picked up the horseshoe again with his metal tongs, checking it before he set it down again. "Had no where else to go."

"He didn't kick you out cause you're no good, so don't feed me that again," Mikken said in a sharp tone of voice.

"That's what he said," Gendry answered, staring at Mikken with a stubborn set to his square jaw.

Mikken snorted. "As you say, lad. It don't matter much to me. You're skilled and know more than most 'prentices your age. But Lord Stark did you a favor taking you in. He wouldn't want no trouble to follow you here."

Arya could see Gendry was getting mad so she knew she had to step in before this went too far. "My father knows why Gendry left Master Mott's service, so don't trouble yourself worrying Mikken."

Mikken looked at her for a long moment and then nodded. "As you say, my lady."

"Don't call her a lady," little Tim said casually and then he gasped, realizing what he had said and who he had said it to.

Mikken snarled and turned on him. "You little Barrowton gutter rat! How'd you like to be out in the cold walking back home? It's a long ways, let me tell you."

"I ain't got no home," Tim said in a forlorn voice. "Same as Gendry." Arya had heard from Gendry that Lady Dustin of Barrowton had sent Tim and the other Barrowton boy orphans off to be servants for the men she contributed to the northern army. Somehow Tim had gotten attached to help the smith Cletus, who had been killed on the road by the ironmen.

"No…suppose you don't, either," Mikken said, his tone softening a bit. "Just mind your mouth around your betters, lad."

"Aye," said Tim, his eyes downcast.

Arya spoke up. "It's my fault. I told him not to call me a lady."

"But you are a lady, my lady," said Gendry with a grin and she reached over and punched his left arm hard and then he laughed and she scowled at him, and then couldn't help but grin also.

"See you two getting along fine," Mikken observed, looking at them shrewdly.

Gendry turned a bit red and looked away from Mikken and Arya quickly spoke. "Of course we are. We fought and almost died together."

"She saved me, from the gold cloaks," Gendry said, giving her a long look, which she returned.

"He saved me, from…from many things," Arya said back, now looking at Gendry in the same way. They held the look for a long few moments, and Arya knew what he meant and he knew what she meant, and she felt her face grow hot, his deep blue eyes piercing her very soul. Then Mikken cleared his throat, and Arya snapped back to reality. They both realized what they were doing and looked away quickly from each other.

"Aye…there is that," Mikken said with a grin and then he gave a wink to Tim, who put his hand over his mouth to hold in his laughter. Gods! Do they know, too? Arya thought. "Makes the bonds of…friendship… that much stronger," Mikken added.

"Aye," said Gendry and Arya at the same time and then they laughed as did Tim.

"That's the stuff, lad," Mikken said to Gendry. "You keep talking like that you'll be a Northman before you know it. Get all of the capital gutter talk out of you." Then he looked to Arya. "So, how did Needle do in these battles you lot fought in?"

"Great," Arya told him. "Saved me and him and others more than once. Got nicked a bit, but Gendry fixed it for me at Harrenhal."

"Jon did good when he asked me to make that dirk for you," Mikken told her. "I thought he was asking for trouble, cause if your lady mother found out she would have been none too happy. But he said he'd keep it secret and so would you."

"I did…but then in King's Landing my father found out I had Needle. He was a bit mad at first. But he let me keep Needle and then he got me a Braavosi sword master to teach me how to use it."

That surprised Mikken. "He did? A Braavosi sword master?"

"Syrio Forel," Arya said, her voice a little sad. "But he's dead now. The Lannisters killed him."

Now Mikken's face grew grim. "Him and many others in your father's service." He looked around the courtyard in front of the smithy. "Many old and friendly faces are gone for good."

As Arya turned to look out from the smithy she saw her father, mother, Robb and Roslin leaving the great hall, which the smithy was located near. The men and women separated without a word, going in different directions. As Arya watched, her mother and Roslin went to the sept in the middle of the courtyard and they entered it. They were going to pray, Arya thought, and she knew only one thing they could be praying for. Her father and Robb marched to the gate for the inner courtyard and left by it, and she lost sight of them.

Gendry had also seen them. "They didn't look happy."

"No, they didn't," she replied quietly. Just then came a shout from the great hall entrance that supper was ready. Arya suddenly realized how hungry she was.

"Come on," she told them. "Let's eat." The others quickly washed their hands in the trough of cold water and then followed her to the hall.

Soon they were in the great hall, one of the first ones in. The tables were already filled with platters of bread and sliced meat and cheese, and bowls of fruit, and other bowls of steaming boiled potatoes and boiled peas. Flagons of water and ale were also on many tables, with wine also on the head table. Mikken, Gendry and Tim went to sit at their usual table in the back. Arya hesitated, looked to the table where she usually sat with her brothers and sister, but now it was empty. She looked to Gendry and then back to her usual table and then decided she didn't want to eat alone.

As she sat with them Mikken gave her a look and then quickly glanced around the hall, a worried look on his face. "My lady, won't look good you eating with us smallfolk."

"I don't care," she said as she grabbed a piece of bread. "My father always ate with his men, here and in King's Landing. He said a lord must eat with his people to know them and a lord who does not know his people is not much of a lord."

"But you know us already," Tim told her.

"Aye," Arya replied. "So I want to know you better is all. Let's eat."

Soon servants brought them bowls of fish soup and they dug in. The hall began to fill up, slowly at first, and then more people started coming. The villagers had a big table to themselves and they were loud as they ate and drank and talked about seeing Lord Robb kill the Bastard of the Dreadfort on the morrow. Arya winced when she heard them use that word, that word she hated. She also hated that Jon and Ramsey shared the same last name. It meant nothing, really, as all natural born children in the Seven Kingdoms took such names from things that represented their land. Gendry's last name was Waters, as were all such children born in the capital region. But she knew he really was a Baratheon, his hair and eyes proof of that, and her father had said he even had the height and build of a young King Robert.

Arya saw that the young miller's wife Leslie was not with the villagers. I guess she is back in the guest lodgings, Arya thought, maybe too sore to walk back to the hall. Arya knew what had happened to her, what Ramsey had done to her, knew more than she really wanted to after the trial. On the road home they had heard more than one tale of rape on the Kingsroad, had seen the woman and girls who had survived to tell the tale, some of them with weepy eyes, others with dead, lifeless looks, and still others full of anger. She knew men like Rorge and Biter, and Armory Lorch's men, and the Goat's Bloody Mummers, all would have done the same to her if they had gotten the chance, even though she wasn't even a woman yet. Arya knew she would have killed them with Needle before that could have happened. But then she got a feeling of dread. What if she couldn't have protected herself? What if they had raped her? What if she had been defiled? How would her eyes look to others afterwards? Could she even look at anyone in the same way and could they look at her without pitying her?

As she thought on this Arya could not help but look across the table at Gendry and Arya had another terrible thought. Arya knew most men wanted a maiden on their wedding night. They wanted blood on the sheets to prove their wife came to them a maiden. If she wasn't a maiden, would any man want her? Would he still love me if I was not pure? Would he still want me as his wife?

Then she shook her head and knew she was being silly. She hadn't been defiled, she was still a maiden, and he loved her, he said. Arya had never loved anyone before, not outside of her family at least, not the way a man and a woman loved each other. But then she got another feeling inside, a sudden dreadful feeling that maybe he has loved someone before. Maybe he had another girl, a girl he liked in King's Landing, a girl maybe he had even loved before they had sent him away. She had never asked him about that because she had never thought of it until now. She knew girls liked him, even women. Jeyne Poole always had big eyes around him, and Arya had gotten mad at her more than once at Harrenhal and on the road home for looking at Gendry like she wanted to eat him. Even Sansa said he was handsome and strong, though Sansa was too proud to ever consider someone low born like Gendry as a husband. And now the Winterfell girls were staring at him and then giggling among themselves when he passed by them while going about the castle helping repair things. The few times Arya had seen this she had wanted to strangle them all but had to restrain herself, and calmed her anger by practicing with Needle in the godswood in the early hours of the morning and in her room at night.

Just then Sansa's voice intruded on her thoughts. "Arya…what are you doing?"

Arya turned and looked at her. Behind her she could see Rickon and Bran and Jeyne Poole and the Frey boys at their regular table near the front of the hall. "I'm eating," she snapped at Sansa. "What do you think I'm doing?"

"Come and join us," Sansa said with a restrained smile. "We need to talk."

Arya almost said no to her, and then realized maybe Sansa and Bran wanted to talk to her about Robb. She had brushed them off earlier, but now she actually wanted to talk to them.

"See you later," she said to Gendry and the others and they stood and dipped their heads and called her 'my lady' in the appropriate manner and Arya almost laughed, but told them to sit and continue eating and then left them. Halfway across the hall Sansa stopped and whispered to her fiercely.

"You shouldn't eat with them!"

"Why not?" Arya shot back.

"You know why! Besides, Mother warned you to stay away from him!"

Arya wanted to be mad and then just let it go and sighed. "I can't stay away."

Sansa looked at her intently, seemed about to be mad, and then suddenly her face relaxed. "You do love him, don't you?" she whispered.

"I do."

Sansa gasped and then flung her arms around Arya, shocking her. "I'm so happy for you!" she said, a little too loudly.

Arya hugged her back for a moment and it was warm and nice, the first hug they had shared since seeing each other alive for the first time in many weeks at Harrenhal. Then Arya realized something. "Ah…Sansa…ah, everyone is looking at us."

Sansa let go and then her face turned a bit red. All around them people were staring at them, and quickly looked away when Arya and Sansa looked back. Then Sansa held her head up high and turned around. "Come. Let us eat," she said in her formal, lady like tone, ignoring the looks they were still getting.

"What was that all about?" Bran asked as they sat down opposite him and Jeyne. The Frey boys and Rickon were too busy eating to have even noticed anything, which was good.

"Never you mind, " Sansa said. Bran scowled at her but Sansa had started to eat her soup and ignored him. Bran turned to Arya. "Where were you? We wanted to talk."

"At.. at the forge," she said.

"You're always at the forge," said Little Walder around a piece of bread stuffed in his mouth

"No, I'm not," Arya snapped at him. "I'm here now, aren't I?"

Little Walder was too busy spooning up soup to answer. She looked back at Bran. "What did you want to talk about?"

"Robb!" said Jeyne suddenly, and for the first time Arya noticed she was on the verge of tears. "He can't fight that beast! He just can't!"

"Seven hells," Arya said in exasperated. "You're still not mooning over him are you?"

"What?" Jeyne said in feigned shock. "Certainly not. He is married after all."

"She likes Gendry now," Big Walder told them.

"She does not!" Arya and Sansa said at the same time, both glaring at Big Walder.

"Yes, she does," added Little Walder and before Jeyne could protest to any of this Little Walder continued "And Bran likes Meera and…"

"What?" Arya and Sansa said again at the same time and then they looked at each other and grinned. "Bran? Is it true?" Sansa asked and her little brother was rolling his eyes.

"Of course I like her," he said calmly. "She's very nice." Then he shot the Frey boys a dirty look. "Not like some people around here."

"I saw the way you always looked at her," said Little Walder, glaring back.

"Enough!" Sansa snapped at them all. "We need to talk about Robb and…the other one." It was as if saying his name was too much for her to bear.

"Robb will kill him," Arya said with certainty as she reached for the clay jug of water that was on the table and poured herself a cup.

"Will he?" Sansa asked, a tremor in her voice.

"Of course," Arya answered after she took a sip of water. She looked at Sansa and then Bran and Jeyne and she saw the doubts and fears in their eyes.

"Tell us, Arya," Bran said, his eyes intent. "Tell us why you are so sure."

"Why are you asking me?"

"Because you've…you've killed men," Sansa said, her voice lowered.

"What?" said Little Walder in disbelief. "She killed someone?"

"I told you," Rickon said to Little Walder. "She killed ironmen."

"How do you know that?" Bran shot at his little brother. They were under strict instructions from their father not to mention to Rickon any of Arya's or Sansa's more dangerous adventures.

"Tim told me all about it. He works with Gendry," Rickon replied matter-of-factly between spoonfuls of his fish soup. "He said Arya and Gendry saved his life." How did Rickon know Tim? Arya thought, but before she could question her brother Big Walder was talking to her.

"Is it true?" Big Walder asked as he looked at Arya with wide eyes.

"Aye," she said, seeing no point in denying it. Almost everyone in the army knew it so it mustn't be that big a secret by now.

"I wish I could've killed some ironmen!" Little Walder said with anger in his voice.

"Don't be stupid," his cousin said to him across the table. "They would've had your guts out in no time."

"Would not!" Little Walder retorted strongly.

His cousin snorted at him and then ignored him, looking back to Arya. "How many men did you kill?"

"What? Ah…" And Arya really did not have an answer for him. She knew she killed one gold cloak at the holdfast for sure and had a hand in helping Gendry kill two Lannister men as well. Then there were two or three or maybe more ironmen on the road near Seagard. And should she count those two men she helped the Hound kill when she was inside Nymeria? There was also another man that Nymeria killed when Arya was dreaming. She was just not sure.

"Never mind all that," Sansa shot at the two Walders before she turned back to Arya. "Tell us what you think."

"Robb's been training to fight all his life," Arya said, remembering Mikken's words. "He's killed men in battle, and even beat the Kingslayer and Tywin Lannister. Not too many men can say that, can they?"

"No, that's true," Sansa replied, seeming to take solace in her sister's words.

"Just…don't worry," Arya told them. "All will be well."

After that they ate some more, and talked on the trial and other things, and the whole time Arya kept looking up, expecting to see her father and Robb and her mother and Roslin, but they didn't come into the hall.

"Where is everyone else?" Sansa asked her as if reading her thoughts. "Not like Mother and Father to miss dinner. Nor Robb."

"Last I saw, Mother and Roslin went to the sept. I don't know where Father and Robb are."

After a bit, she saw Gendry get up from his table and head for the exit doors of great hall.

"I have to go," Arya said as she started to rise.

Sansa saw Gendry leaving the hall and then gave a little grin to Arya. Arya started to leave, then she turned back and looked at her big sister. "Thanks." Sansa smiled, and nodded slightly and as Arya was leaving Jeyne asked Sansa what all that was about and Sansa told her to leave it be. Arya was sure Sansa would tell Jeyne later about what she had said about Gendry, but Arya really didn't care as long as the Walder boys didn't hear it.

She caught up to Gendry back at the forge where he was just leaving after picking up the horseshoe he had fixed earlier.

"Have to go shoe a horse," he told her.

"I'll go with you," Arya said. He only grunted and kept walking and Arya knew something was up.

"What's wrong?"

"We're not supposed to spend too much time together," he said, taking long strides as Arya hurried to catch up to him. The castle courtyard was mostly empty, with the majority of the Winterfell castle occupants eating now.

"You don't want to spend time with me?" she asked in a hurt tone.

He sighed loudly. "Of course I do. But we have to be careful."

"It's not like we're standing here in the middle of the courtyard kissing."

He stopped and his face was a bit red, and she knew that happened because she mentioned kissing. She wasn't really hurt or mad at him, knowing he and Sansa were both right, that they needed to be careful. Even the Frey boys had noticed she was hanging about the forge a lot and that was not good at all.

Gendry was looking at her now, standing mostly in shadow as the setting sun to the west cast its last rays past the castle battlements and towers, sending long shadows across the courtyard. "We can't do that either," he said to her, his face still flush. "Not till you are older at least."

"I know," she answered, her voice downcast. Then she sighed. "Come on, you've got to shoe that horse before it gets too dark to see properly."

They walked to the East Gate in silence. They were just about to exit it and head to the Greatjon's camp where the shoeless horse was waiting when they saw a group of men riding up the short road that went from the Kingsroad to Winterfell. They were about twenty men, in odd bits of armor and different colored surcoats and clothing and cloaks, with no banners, all with different sigils on their clothing and shields. In front was a heavy, bearded man in reddish robes and besides him rode a tall gaunt one-eyed man with reddish hair and a slight beard who was paler than any man Arya had ever seen, even paler than the leech loving Lord Bolton. On his surcoat was a faded sigil of a lightning bolt on a purple background.

"Is that…no, it can't be them," Gendry said in surprise. "Not this far north!"

"It is! It is!" Arya shouted and she ran forward with Gendry right on her heels.

The guards at the gates stepped in front of the riders and shouted for them to stop. Arya ran past the guards and stopped by the lead horse, with Gendry right behind her.

"Lady Arya, is it?" said Thoros of Myr as he climbed down from his horse.

"Aye," she said with a big grin. He didn't know who she was last time they had met, in the village on the way home, but she bet Harwin had told him soon afterwards. "We never thought to see you again."

"I never thought to be here," Thoros said. "But the Lord of Light showed me the way and here I am." He turned to the thin man who was now off his horse as well. "Lady Arya Stark, this is Lord Beric Dondarrion."

Lord Beric Dondarrion. Arya had heard many and more stories about the Lightning Lord, from smallfolk on the road, and from the Lannister men when she was being held at Harrenhal. Many of the stories said he was dead, while others said he couldn't be killed. Arya dipped her head to him. "My lord," she said in greeting.

Dondarrion dipped his head in return. "My lady. We wish…" But Dondarrion stopped speaking and he was staring at Gendry. "Good gods."

"God, Lord Beric, one god," Thoros said, now looking at Gendry as well, the same look of recognition on his face when he first saw Gendry back in the village. "The armorer Mott's apprentice, is it not?"

"Yes, my lord. Gendry's my name."

Dondarrion was looking at him closely. "Can it be, Thoros? He has the look."

"That he does, as I said to you after I met him in that village."

Arya knew they had figured out who Gendry really was and quickly moved to stop any more such talk. "He's just a blacksmith."

Dondarrion looked at her with his one good eye for a long moment and gave a slight nod, as if he understood her thoughts. "As you say, my lady. My men and I have ridden far and are tired and hungry. Would it be too much trouble to impose on the hospitality of Winterfell?"

"Come inside. There is food and drink in the great hall," Arya told them. "I will get my father and tell him you are here." She told a guard to show them the way to the stables for their horses and then the great hall. Then they went inside, Dondarrion taking one more long look at Gendry. As they passed Arya searched for Harwin but he was not with them. "Where's Harwin?" she shouted to Thoros.

He stopped and turned towards her and the look on his face told her it all. "He fell in battle, my lady, with the Mountain's men, the very morning when we received our pardons from Lord Tywin Lannister."

Arya felt a sudden sadness. Harwin had helped teach her how to ride a horse. "He was a good man," Arya said sadly.

"That he was," Thoros replied in a weary tone. "We lost him and many others from Winterfell and other lands."

"I'll tell my father you are here," she said again and Thoros gave a slight bow and then turned and joined his comrades. As Thoros and Dondarrion and their few surviving men passed by, all of them looked at Gendry in that same strange way. Gendry spoke quietly to Arya once they were gone and the guards were out of earshot again. "They know who I am."

"That they do," she replied. She gave him a weak grin. "Best not think about it. They won't say anything to anyone."

Gendry went off to shoe the horse before it got dark and Arya went looking for her father. After a few questions to people she saw inside, she found him and Robb in the godswood, sitting under the great weirwood tree with its human face carved into its trunk. Arya hesitated before approaching them. They were sitting where Maester Luwin had died not even a week ago, and being here again brought up that terrible memory once more. As she stood there looking at them, her father glanced her way and then beckoned her to come forth.

"I suppose your mother sent you," he said, not bothering to rise from the ground.

"What? No…we have visitors."

"Aye? And who would that be?" Robb asked.

"Thoros, that red priest, and Lord Dondarrion."

That truly surprised them. "Here? In Winterfell?" her father asked as he stood.

"They just rode in the East Gate," Arya told him. "They…they had some bad news. Harwin is dead."

"That is grievous news," her father replied.

Robb sighed. "Harwin as well. Were there any other Winterfell men with Dondarrion?" he asked Arya.

"I didn't see our sigil or recognize anyone," she answered. She looked to her father. "Does that mean all of the Winterfell men you sent out from King's Landing are dead?"

"Aye, I suppose it does," his father replied heavily. "Where are they now?"

"I sent them to the great hall to eat."

"Well done. It is time we ate as well, Robb. You will need your strength on the morrow."

"Aye, Father," Robb said as he then looked to his sister. "Have Mother and Roslin eaten yet?"

"No. They are still in the sept…I think," Arya answered her brother. "Were they very mad?"

"Aye, they were," Robb said with shake of his head. "They just don't understand that no one else can fight him. Any other man would be marked for death by Lord Bolton if he defeated Ramsey."

"That's what Mikken said," Arya told them.

"Mikken is not wrong," her father replied grimly. "But Robb's status as heir of Winterfell may be no protection either. Roose Bolton may have no love for his natural son, but he is his only son and heir now. Roose may be dead inside from all those leeches he uses to suck out his soul, but this he will not forget nor forgive. If he did even his cowed people would start grumbling about how weak he was and no lord can have that. Some day in the future he will seek redress."

"Then we should deal with him now," Robb stated with determination in his voice. "While we can, while he is here and he is vulnerable."

Her father stared at Robb for a long moment and Arya thought he was going to say yes but then he shook his head. "That is not our way. Roose and his men have been staunch allies in our fights. The whole North may hate him and his, but if we do them harm without just cause, we will damage our own position."

Robb snorted. "Then we must always keep an eye for any treachery."

"As I and my forefathers have always done where the Dreadfort is concerned," Ned Stark said. "Put this aside for now. Come. Let us go greet our guests." The three of them left the godswood. Soon they were in the great hall and for the next hour as her father and Robb ate and talked to Thoros and Dondarrion and heard their tales, Arya sat on the edge of the group, on the far end of their long table, listening and sipping a mug of weak, watered ale and occasionally nibbling on a piece of bread or cheese.

"We were always but a few days behind you," Thoros told them as he refilled his wine cup for the fifth or sixth time it seemed to Arya. He did like to drink, she remembered from the tales she had heard about him. But it seemed to not make him drunk. "We missed you at the Twins by three days," Thoros continued. "We needed food and fresh mounts and old Walder Frey was slow to give us any aid whatsoever so we were further delayed. Finally, he agreed and gave us some horses and supplies, but we had to write a note saying you would pay him back."

Arya's father snorted. "That's the way of him. Now he is my kin by marriage and still he is tightfisted as ever. I will pay, not to worry. You and your men were sent from King's Landing under my command to bring justice to the Mountain. Your debts are mine."

"A grievous day it was when we learned Robert was dead and you were a prisoner, my lord," Dondarrion said. He had barely touched his food and only sipped some wine, Arya noted.

"Aye. A grievous day for the whole realm," Ned Stark replied.

Thoros then told them how they missed them at Moat Cailin by a week and then they just kept going north, finally arriving at Winterfell. "What news of Stannis and the Lannisters?" Thoros asked when he finished.

"Still deadlocked at King's Landing, the last we heard," Arya's father told them. And then for a while they talked on the war and what would happen, and Arya's mind drifted away a bit as she started to feel sleepy. Her head nodded and suddenly she felt the tug of Nymeria.

The direwolves were chained up near the First Keep, far away from the stables and kennels, the dogs and horses being skittish whenever the direwolves were nearby. Arya's mind connected with Nymeria for a moment and she could taste the bones she was crunching in her jaws and sensed her fellow direwolves around her also gnawing away on the bones Gage the cook had thrown them. Through Nymeria's eyes she could see the East Gate. By now it was dark and the courtyard was lit up with only a few torches. Then the gate opened and three people walked in. At first Arya could not make them out but the sharp eyesight of Nymeria soon picked out Roose Bolton and his two captains that had sat with him at the trial. They walked straight across the courtyard to the armory and then went inside. Arya knew they were going to the cells underground to see Bolton's son.

Suddenly Arya heard her father's voice as if from far away and she was back in the great hall. To her surprise she was still sitting in her chair. But everyone at their table was looking at her.

"Sorry…did you ask me something Father?"

"I asked if you were well," he said with concern.

"Why?"

"You closed your eyes and were…making noises," Robb said with a knowing look.

"Just…tired. Robb…can I talk to you?" She stood and nodded towards the doors.

"Aye," Robb said, and then he drained his cup of ale and stood as well. As Arya waited, Thoros was looking at her in a strange way and Arya had the sudden feeling he knew what she was.

Outside the great hall Arya told Robb what she had seen when inside Nymeria. "He's just going to see him," Robb said without concern. "Maybe give him some advice on how to kill me."

"Don't say that!" Arya said sharply, getting a sudden feeling of dread.

Robb smiled and ruffled her hair the way Jon used to do. "Not to worry, little wolf. He's no warrior. He kills helpless men and women. He's a murderer and a coward, not a true and honorable man. Not a warrior."

"That's what I am afraid of," Arya said. "He won't fight like a warrior. He'll fight dirty."

"Aye?" Robb said thoughtfully. "Could be something to that."

Then Arya remembered something. "When I was at Harrenhal, I overheard the Imp's man Bronn telling some Lannister men how he killed a knight in the Vale when the Imp was on trial for his life. Bronn boasted about how the other man fought with honor but died still the same."

"Mother told the same story at Riverrun," Robb replied.

In the gloom of the courtyard Arya looked up at her big brother. "Robb…just kill him…anyway you can."

Robb grinned. "Aye, my warrior girl." Then he turned and went back into the great hall.

Arya was going to go back, but then she looked toward the nearby sept, and decided to light a candle for Robb. The doors to the sept were repaired and the new hinges Gendry had made worked well, the doors swinging in silently, as they should. Inside Arya saw many lit candles. On each altar were small images of the Seven done in craved wood, hastily done in the last few days, to act as temporary replacements until proper full-sized statues could be done. Her mother and Roslin were kneeling before the altar of the Father, while Sansa and Jeyne were kneeling in front of the Mother.

They did not notice Arya come in. She wanted to tell them about the visitors, but kept silent and then looked at the Seven altars. Arya was indifferent to her mother's religion, feeling more in kin with her father's old gods. But she had been taught her mother's faith as well, and knew the Seven and what they represented. People prayed to the Father for justice, to the Mother for mercy, to the Warrior for strength in battle, to the Smith for strength at their labors, to the Maiden to protect their virtue, and to the Crone for wisdom. Candles were lit on all six of their altars.

The seventh altar was for the Stranger and no candles were lit there. No one prayed to the Stranger, for the Stranger represented death and why would anyone pray for that. She knew the Hound called his large war horse Stranger and more faithful men might call that blasphemy, but Arya had heard men at Harrenhal say the Hound was just laughing at death. Or maybe he just didn't care if he died, old Lucan the blacksmith had said thoughtfully one morning at the forge in Harrenhal when Arya had asked him why any man would name his horse Stranger.

Near the doors was a wooden box holding small yellow tallow candles and Arya picked one up and walked to the altar of the Warrior. She lit it on the flame of a candle already there and then placed her lit candle on the altar and then got on her knees on the cold stone floor. She closed her eyes and tried to remember any formal prayers but couldn't. So she just asked the Warrior to give strength to Robb's sword tomorrow and to help him kill Ramsey Snow who deserved to die more than any man in the Seven Kingdoms, at least now that Joffrey was dead.

"Arya," her mother's voice said and Arya opened her eyes.

"I was praying for Robb."

"As were we all," her mother said as she lit a candle for the Warrior as well. She knelt beside Arya. "Have you seen him and your father?"

"They are in the great hall eating with Thoros of Myr and Lord Beric Dondarrion."

Her mother stared at her with surprise on her face. Sansa and Jeyne had overheard and were soon asking her questions as Arya explained it all to them.

"Beric Dondarrion!" Jeyne swooned. "He's so handsome."

"Not anymore," Arya said.

Jeyne looked at her in disbelief. "What do you mean?"

"He's been in many fights, took some wounds," Arya told her.

"Wounds?" Jeyne said, her voice faltering.

"He lost an eye," Arya said and Jeyne let out a small gasp. "His head has been hurt as well. And his neck has a scar. I think the Mountain tried to hang him. Or was it Amory Lorch? Anyway, he's very pale now as well."

Jeyne had gone pale herself, and then Sansa led her away, giving Arya a reproving look. Arya was sure neither of them was going to the great hall to see the handsome lord now.

"You could have been more gentle," her mother told her.

"Why? Better she hear the truth from me than see it herself."

"Perhaps. Is he really so badly scarred?"

"Aye, he is."

Her mother and Arya then returned to praying to the Warrior. Arya glanced out of the corner of her eye at Roslin. The whole time Roslin never rose from her knees in front of the altar of the Father, her eyes still closed and her lips moving in silent prayer.

"Robb will win," Arya said quietly to her mother.

"He shouldn't even be fighting," her mother answered, a tremor in her voice. "There are hundreds of other men here who could do it."

"They might lose," Arya said, as she sat back on her calves, her knees sore from the stone floor. "Ramsey Snow must die."

"Yes, but why does it have to be Robb?"

"Father said…"

"I know what he said," her mother interrupted. "As if Roose Bolton would dare."

"He might."

"Then they should crush him now."

"Robb said the same thing. But Father said that was not our way."

Her mother snorted. "He is too honorable."

"Is that a bad thing?" Arya asked, surprised at her mother's reaction.

Her mother looked away from the altar to Arya and Arya could see the uncertainty in her eyes. "No…not a bad thing. But sometimes it will not help you. Your father tried to be honorable in King's Landing and all that got him was a black cell and all our lives in danger."

Arya knew her mother had a part of that for kidnapping the Imp but also knew saying that would do no good. Her mother was right in some ways and Arya knew that being honorable was not the best way always. Other men were not honorable and they would stab you in the back the first chance they got and to hell with what other people thought. Then Arya remembered she had stabbed a gold cloak in the back and had saved Gendry. If she had tried to be honorable maybe they would both be dead now. But that was in the chaos of battle where honor counted for little if you were trying to save your life. At the same time she also felt her father was more right than wrong, and being honorable was more good than bad. It brought you respect and trust, and she heard more than one person say in King's Landing and on the road home that the word of Ned Stark was worth something.

She knew she had to say something to help defend her father's choice. "He said that Lord Bolton and his men helped us and it would be a poor way to repay them."

Her mother sighed. "There is that." Then after a few moments of silence she stood and turned to Roslin. "Come. It is time to rest and get some food."

"I'm not hungry," Roslin answered in a weak tone.

"No? Then you must rest at least."

Roslin seemed about to protest but then just rose to her feet and soon they left. Arya was going to blow out the candles but her mother stopped her. "Leave the candles as they are Arya."

After that Arya went to the Great Keep with Roslin and her mother. She bid them good night and then Arya went to her room. Being back in her own room again was one more reason Arya was glad to be back in Winterfell. It was a big room and it had been hers and Sansa's room for several years. That was until she was six years old and Sansa had started complaining loudly and often about sharing a room with her little sister. So Sansa got a room by herself, a smaller room, and even complained about that, saying that as Arya was the younger sister she should have the smaller room. Her father had put an end to that, saying if Sansa wanted to be by herself, she would have to accept the smaller room or share with Arya. That had been one more reason for the rift that grew between them that was now slowly healing.

Arya saw Needle in its sheath on the peg and took it down and drew the slender blade out with a whisper of steel on leather. She wished she could just go down to the cells and stab Ramsey Snow to death but knew that would bring endless trouble. She practiced for a bit to help clear her mind, but it didn't work and she was filled with doubts and worries for Robb. Arya hung Needle back up and as she passed by the window of her room, a sudden flare of flame made her stop and look out. She opened the shutters wider. In the courtyard some men were lighting a fire. She distinctly saw Thoros and Dondarrion there and nearby was Gendry, his height and thick mop of black hair making him easy to pick out.

Outside Arya counted at least twenty men around the fire, with Gendry hanging on the edges. Arya sidled up to him. "What's this?"

"Thoros is going to pray to his god," Gendry replied.

"The night is dark and full of terrors, my friends," Thoros said in a loud voice. "But the flame of R'hllor will keep us safe from our enemy, the Great Other we shall not mention by name. Let evil flee from this land and let all men with doubt in their hearts find the true path to salvation. Look into the flames and see what path lies before you. Look into the flames and see your savior, and feel his light open your eyes and heart and guide you to wisdom."

Arya looked into the flames and all she saw was fire. But Thoros was a red priest and she had heard that sometimes they could see the future in the flames. Could he know what would happen in the morning? Could he know who would win the fight?

When the fires died down and Thoros was done praying and most of his men left to go to their lodgings, Arya was about to say goodnight to Gendry when Thoros and Dondarrion came up to them.

"You are Robert Baratheon's son," Dondarrion said to Gendry without any preamble.

Arya and Gendry were both caught by surprise by his words. "He is not!" Arya finally said in a rush.

She looked up at Gendry and he seemed about to join her protest but then he just sighed. "So Lord Stark tells me."

"He did not lie," Thoros replied. "Many a night Robert and I tried to drink each other under the table. You have his face, his eyes, his hair, his build. Aye, and even his hammer."

"Don't tell anyone," Arya said to them in a pleading tone. "Please. Some people might want to kill him if they knew. Joffrey already tried."

"Aye, they might," said Dondarrion. "But not us. We will tell no one."

They thanked him and then Arya looked at Thoros and just had to ask. "Can you see the future in the flames?"

Thoros shrugged. "Not always."

"Did you see what would happen to Robb tomorrow?"

"I saw something. A wolf, sitting by a man lying on the ground."

"That's Robb, the wolf," Arya said swiftly, hope in her voice. "He's been called the Young Wolf by his soldiers. Sitting by Ramsey's dead body."

"Perhaps," said Dondarrion cautiously. "The things Thoros sees are not always easy to understand until they come to pass. Well, good night."

"We shall say a prayer for Robb to the Lord of Light to see his sword guided true tomorrow," Thoros said and then after saying good night to them, Arya and Gendry were alone by the dwindling fire

"They won't say anything," Arya told him. "They were King Robert's men."

"I know," Gendry said and then he lowered his voice. "King Robert was my father. Even now I still can't believe it."

"It's true."

"The whole time I was in King's Landing I never knew."

Mentioning King's Landing reminded Arya of something. "When you lived there did you have any…any friends?"

"Some…when I was small. At Master Mott's the other apprentices didn't like me."

"Why not?"

He grunted. "Too stubborn. That's why I made the bull's head helmet. Sort of a jape."

Arya laughed a bit and then pressed on. "Did you have any... any…girls? As friends, I mean."

He looked at her in puzzlement. "Are you asking me if I had a special girl?"

"Aye."

"No," he said with a grin and Arya felt some sense of relief. But he kept speaking. "Did you? I mean, a special boy."

"What? No…I'm just a…I mean…"

"I know what you mean. You're still a girl. Doesn't mean you couldn't like someone."

"No. Never. And you?"

"No. Never."

"Good."

"Good."

Nothing else needed to be said and in the darkness she reached out and took his hand and he held it tight. "Robb will win," he said, as if knowing what she was thinking.

"I said a prayer for him to the Warrior," Arya told him after a moment. "I've been in the godswood, the sept, and now here tonight. Sometimes I think there are too many gods."

"Maybe we should have just one god," Gendry said, looking at the dying fire. "I've heard people say King Stannis believes in Thoros' god."

"I've heard the same." Arya answered. Then she gave a little laugh. "He's your uncle. The king."

"Aye, he is. Not like he will ever greet me with any warmth."

"But he won't harm you either."

"Because I have no claim. So he will never make me a Baratheon either."

"No, he won't," Arya agreed and felt it was just not fair. If King Stannis ever legitimized Gendry or any of King Robert's other children born out of wedlock, then his own claim to the Iron Throne would be damaged. A son or a daughter of a king comes before his brother by all the laws of the Seven Kingdoms.

Finally, they said good night to each other. She wanted to kiss him again but knew she shouldn't and they parted after saying good night. Arya finally went to her bedroom, and an hour later finally drifted off to sleep, her mind still filled with worry on what the morrow would bring.

Morning did come, and Arya knew it would be the last dawn someone would see. She knew in her heart it had to be Ramsey Snow, but a nagging doubt still clouded her mind and she could not help but fear for her brother. Breakfast was a somber affair, but at least all of her family gathered together. Her mother had a brave face on as she sat next to her father, but neither said a word to each other as they sat, and Arya guessed maybe their fight continued in the night. Roslin was red-eyed and looked as if she had not slept at all, and kept making little whimpering sounds. Sansa barely touched her food and was also almost in tears, and kept looking at Robb when she thought he was not looking her way. Bran went on about this book he was reading about the plants of Westeros and Robb took an interest in his talk, and Arya and her father joined in as well. Rickon was just eating and laughing when he thought something was funny, as usual. Finally, Catelyn Stark could stand it no more.

"Stop it!" she said in a stern voice.

"Yes, please!" Roslin added. "You're all acting as if nothing is wrong!"

Arya's father looked at her and then to Arya's mother. "We all know what is going to happen today. Robb is going to fight, a fight to the death. He knows that, everyone knows that. Hearing the weeping of his mother and wife are the last things he needs now. You must be strong, the both of you. Robb needs a clear head, not one filled with the lamentations of women."

Catelyn Stark's face set itself in anger and she was about to retort when a loud shout came from the end of the hall.

"There's the bastard!" Flint's son shouted from where the villagers were eating.

They all turned to look and there was Ramsey Snow, being led into the hall with his guards and his father and a strong contingent of Bolton men behind him. Ramsey was still in shackles but the way he grinned and sauntered you would not think he was a prisoner about to fight for his life.

"Lord Stark!" Ramsey shouted to their table so everyone could hear. "I have had my breakfast. And so has your champion it seems. Have my shackles removed so we can get on with this."

"Are you so eager to die?" Robb asked him as he stood.

"No, just to be rid of this place forever." Ramsey told him and then looked back at Ned Stark. "I must have assurances that I will be allowed to walk free when your son is dead."

Arya's father snorted. "I will follow the law…if you win."

"Then let us fight!" Ramsey said and a great shout went up from the breakfast crowd.

"Bring the prisoner outside. Remove his shackles and give him armor and a sword," Arya's father told the guards.

"He already has armor and weapons," Lord Bolton said in his barely audible voice.

"Then let it be done," Ned told them and another great shout went up and the crowd surged out the doors. The guards dragged Ramsey with them and his father and the other Bolton men followed.

Catelyn and Roslin started to protest this haste but Arya's father told them what was done was done.

"Ned,…can't it be stopped?" Catelyn asked in worry, all her fears for her eldest son now about to come to pass.

"No."

"What if he loses?"

"He won't," Arya's father said with confidence. "He has been trained all his life for this. He has proven his skill in battle."

"I will defeat this scum, Mother," Robb said, equally confident, as Roslin clutched his arm. He turned to his wife and gave her a kiss on the lips. "No more tears now...my lady."

"Aye…my lord," she said but her voice still betrayed her fears.

With that Robb strode toward the door and shouted to Olyvar, his squire, who came running from the back of the hall and followed Robb out the doors.

Arya hung back as the others left, looking for Gendry, but even though she saw Mikken and Tim and the older apprentice smith, Gendry was no where in sight. She even saw Jeyne and the Frey boys and Gage and Osha and the rest of the kitchen staff heading out the doors and Arya was one of the last to leave.

The courtyard between the guest house, the armory and the Great Keep was in chaos, as almost everyone in Winterfell and the Bolton and Umber camps was here, coming running when they heard the fight was about to begin. Thoros and Dondarrion and their men were also there as were the villagers. And there she saw Gendry at last, standing by Thoros, talking to him, with Dondarrion on his other side. She tried to wave and get his attention but he didn't see her. All was a hubbub of noise and movement as people scrambled to find places along the walls and on the bridge that connected the armory and the Great Keep. Arya tried to move to where Gendry was but couldn't and then she lost sight him and of her parents and Robb and she kept getting pushed back, under the bridge and then she was near the guards barracks near the old First Keep. There she saw the direwolves, still chained up, and they were all looking intently at the surging crowd.

Grey Wind was standing up and he was growling, his body straining against the chain that was attached to a metal peg in a stout wooden post. Nymeria and Shaggydog and Summer were also up on their feet, all looking towards Arya now.

She turned away from them and wormed and wiggled her way through the mass of people until at last she could see what was happening. The Winterfell guards had pushed people back until a clear space was in the courtyard between the Great Keep and guest house, nearby the ashes of the fire Thoros had burned last night. Robb was over by the guest house, with Olyvar helping him strap on his best armor, pieces of plate over stout chain mail. Arya's father and Lord Umber were there, talking to Robb, while her mother, Sansa, Roslin, Rickon, and Bran, on Hodor's back, were just behind them. Catelyn Stark held onto Rickon's shoulders as he stood in front of her while Sansa and Roslin were holding hands, both struggling to control their emotions. No one seemed to notice that Arya was missing or even seemed to care.

Then she saw Ramsey Snow, standing over by the Great Keep with his father and the other Bolton men. Ramsey's shackles were off and now were on the ground near the ashes of the fire. His father and some of the others were helping him on with his armor, plate over chain mail, well designed and with the flayed man of the Dreadfort embossed on his breastplate. He strapped a shield with the same sigil to his left forearm and was handed a long, sharp sword, and then a great helm that covered his face, with just a slit on its visor, was placed over his head.

When Arya looked back to her brother Robb had his shield with the direwolf sigil on it and his own sword in his hand, with just a half helm on his head, which had the eyes open and just a strip of metal to protect his nose. It also had cheek guards that did not met at the chin. Arya knew that Robb's helmet gave him better vision while Ramsey's gave more protection.

The two combatants moved to the middle of the arena. Arya's father then walked between them and raised his arms for silence and soon the people were quiet.

"We have come here to see a man be judged before the gods," Ned Stark began. "His fate will be decided by a trial at arms. To the death. No man can yield. If the accused defeats his opponent his crimes are forgiven and he is free to go and no man shall stop him or face the law as well. If he is defeated, then may the gods judge him in the hereafter in equal measure to the crimes he has committed against the people of the North. Let it begin."

Without even waiting for Ned Stark to fully exit the fighting arena Ramsey Snow let go a furious yell that could be heard outside his great helm and charged at Robb. Robb was ready for it and easily stepped aside and lay his steel across Ramsey's back. For one brief moment everyone thought it was over but Ramsey's armor saved him, despite the long rent in his back plate, for the chain mail underneath had not been damaged.

After that he was more cautious and the two combatants circled each other, looking for an opening, as the crowd cheered and yelled. Arya was jostled from side to side and could feel the madness of the crowd as Robb and Ramsey clashed their swords together and took blows on their shields and took swipes at each other. Ramsey's swipes were more like hacks, his sword swinging wildly, while Robb had more finesse, seeking an opening…and then he found one.

Ramsey overstepped with a clumsy blow and Robb sliced his sword up the back of Ramsey's left lower leg. Even over the noise Arya could hear him cry out and the shouts and yells from the crowd grew to a fever pitch as bright red blood streamed down the back of Ramsey's leg. He staggered and limped away from Robb as the loud voice of the Greatjon was heard above all.

"Finish the dog!" Lord Umber yelled and more people took up the cry.

Arya saw Roose Bolton then, by chance as the crowd parted a bit, and he was calm and not moving at all, just standing there with an impassive look on his face, as if he cared not for the outcome. She then looked over at her own family and they were quite the opposite. At first their faces had been filled with dread but now they were mostly filled with joy. Sansa and Roslin were cheering and Rickon was jumping up and down and Bran was pumping his fist in the air. But her mother still had that worried look on her face and her father had his usually mask of grimness.

Arya knew it was not over yet. Ramsey limped away and came near to where she was standing behind the Winterfell spearmen who were keeping the people back. Robb stalked him as if he was hunting, his sword out, his stout body in a crouch, his shield up, ready to attack and defend himself. Suddenly Robb struck and their swords clashed and Robb's shield slammed into Ramsey's body. He went down in a clatter of armor, landing in a cloud of ash as his body hit the remains from the fire Thoros had lit to chase away the darkness.

Then Arya saw it, saw Ramsey drop his sword and scoop up a handful of ashes in his armored gauntlet. As Robb stood over him to deliver the death blow and the crowd cheered madly Arya had a sickening feeling in her gut and tried to warn him.

"ROBB! LOOK OUT!"

But it was too late, as Ramsey spun quickly and flung the ashes up into Robb's face and they went into his eyes. Robb staggered back as an awful gasp came from the crowd. Robb shook his head furiously and ashes fell from his face and helmet but he staggered some more. Ramsey slowly got to his feet, and then he ripped his helmet off from his head and shook out his long, stringy hair. He picked up his sword and strode after Robb.

"Time to die Stark!" he shouted and then he laughed and his thick lips formed an evil leer.

Robb tried to rub his eyes with his hands but they were covered in gauntlets and held shield and sword and could do no good. He swung his sword blindly, shaking his head and blinking, trying to clear his eyes, and Ramsey easily stepped out of the way of Robb's sword. More than one voice cursed at Ramsey for his treachery and across the way Arya could see her mother step forward and try to enter the arena, her face full of anguish, but her father grabbed her and she started to cry and yell for them to stop this madness.

Then, through all the noise and hubbub and movement, Arya saw Gendry again, and he was there, moving through the crowd toward her, now just a few feet away. At the same time she heard another sound, the distinctive howl and growl of a direwolf…and then she was gone, inside Nymeria and then she saw with Nymeria's eyes that Grey Wind had pulled her chain and peg from the wooden post and was running toward the crowd. With a mighty tug Nymeria pull out the peg holding in her chain as well and she was chasing Grey Wind across the courtyard. People screamed and fled when they saw the two direwolves coming and a hole opened in the crowd. As the people parted Arya saw herself, lying on the ground, under the bridge between the Great Keep and the armory, with Gendry kneeling next to her.

And then she could see the fighting arena, and she got the shock of her life. Ramsey Snow was standing over Robb, who was on his knees. Ramsey's sword was buried in Robb's body, under the left arm where the armor was weak. As Ramsey pulled out his sword full of Robb's bright red blood he yelled in triumph and raised his sword for another blow. But the blow never came. Robb's own sword came up, and just the tip of it, razor sharp, caught Ramsey Snow across the throat just below his chin and just above his armor. If he had kept his helmet on he would never even have gotten a scratch. For a second Arya thought Robb did not cut him, had missed, but then the flesh parted in a wide gap and bright red blood flowed out and down the front of Ramsey Snow's armor.

Grey Wind had leaped over Gendry and herself, and was charging across the courtyard and Arya knew what her brother was going to do and had to stop him. Just as Grey Wind was leaping for Ramsey, leaping to kill this man who was attacking Grey Wind's master, Nymeria tackled him from behind and knocked him to the ground. The two direwolves rolled and fought as the crowd screamed and surged back. All was chaos and Arya could see nothing but the fur and bared teeth of her brother trying to snap at her neck, could feel agony as his claws were ripping her flesh on her belly. And then her own teeth sank into his left shoulder and Grey Wind howled in pain. She didn't bite deep, just enough to make him hurt. The two direwolves separated, then got up and were panting, circling and growling at each other, the chains still attached to them scraping across the ground.

Suddenly Grey Wind stopped and stared at Nymeria with a strange look. And then he howled and all who were there that day would say for years after it was the most frightening, heart wrenching noise they had ever heard in their lives.

Through Nymeria's eyes, Arya now saw what was happening. Behind Grey Wind lay Ramsey Snow, grasping at his throat, blood coming out between his fingers, as his father knelt beside him.

And there was Robb, lying in a pool of red blood, so red, so shockingly red. Her father and Maester William were kneeling by him and her mother was holding Rickon who was crying and Sansa and Roslin held each other and were bawling their eyes out. Bran was crying as well and big Hodor's eyes were full of tears. Maester William was shaking his head and her father shed a few tears as well and Arya knew her brother was dead. Nymeria then howled as Grey Wind joined her and from across the castle Shaggydog and Summer howled and joined them in their pain

Suddenly Grey Wind stopped howling and then Arya got another shock. "Sister," came a voice in her head and Arya wondered if for a second she had not gone mad.

"Robb?" she gasped, not daring to hope it was truly him.

"Aye."

"You just died!"

"I knew I was going to die. I…I don't know how but I fled my body. I am with Grey Wind now."

"He wanted to stop the fight. To kill Ramsey."

"I sensed his anger. You stopped him?"

"Aye. Now what do we do…you're dead."

"Not yet."

"But your body…"

"Is dead…then I will live on with Grey Wind while I can. Tell everyone I am sorry I could not defeat Ramsey Snow."

"But you did! He's dead!"

She felt a sense of relief come from him "Then I have done my duty. You were right. He fought without honor. I should have listened to you little sister."

But then someone slapped Arya's face and she fled from Nymeria and was lying in Gendry's arms.

"Robb?" she asked. Gendry was pale and he just helped her to her feet. "Arya, sorry...I had to hit you. Everyone is looking at us. Robb is…" but he couldn't say it so she did. "I know. He's dead."

The crowd was still around them, and many people were crying and others were looking at her strangely and with sympathy.

"She just fell," one woman said. "Why did she fall?"

"It's the shock," said a soldier of Lord Umber's. "Her brother just died."

"No!" said Arya, suddenly remembering, and then she grabbed Gendry's hand. "Come on!"

She dragged him through the crowd and there she came on a scene of horror. Ramsey's bloody body was being picked up by some Bolton men and being led away with Roose Bolton in front of them, his face still expressionless. Her father was holding her mother who was wailing in agony, as were Sansa and Roslin, and Bran and Rickon and many others. Jeyne Poole, Mikken, Gage, Tim, the Frey boys and many others were in shock and some in tears as well. And there on the ground lay Robb, with Grey Wind sitting across his body. Nymeria sat nearby, whimpering, with several bloody scratches on her belly.

Osha was standing nearby the kitchen staff, a grim look on her face, and she was looking at Grey Wind, and then she looked over to Arya and Arya felt her eyes on her. Arya had not had many words with the tall wildling woman but now Osha came over to her.

"That one is yours?" she asked, nodding to Nymeria.

"Aye," Arya replied

"Where is your brother now? With his direwolf?"

"How do you know?" Arya asked in shock.

"You do not cry like the others do. You know he is not dead, little one, don't you?"

"Aye…he is inside Grey Wind now. But no one will believe me."

"I will," said a voice and she turned and there was Thoros of Myr and Lord Beric Dondarrion. Thoros stepped past them and then he stopped by Robb's body.

"With your permission Lord and Lady Stark, I will examine him."

"He is dead," said Arya's father, anguish on his face. "I am afraid there is naught anyone can do."

"Maybe I can," Thoros replied.

Arya's mother glared at the red priest through her tears. "He is with the Seven now. Your false god can do him no good, Thoros. My son is dead. Leave us be to mourn as we will."

"He is not dead!" said Arya suddenly, stepping through the crowd and everyone stared at her.

"Arya…," her father began but Osha cut him off.

"Sorry, my lord, but your daughter speaks the right of it." She looked at Grey Wind to emphasis her point.

Ned Stark looked from Arya to Osha and then to Grey Wind, and then understanding dawned and he nodded. "Lord Umber, Gendry, pick Robb up and take him to the Great Keep, to his bed chambers, at once."

"Ned?" Catelyn Stark said in shock and anger. "What are you doing?"

"Saving our son. Quick, let's move!"

As if he knew what was happening, Grey Wind leaped off the body as Lord Umber and Gendry picked Robb up and took him quickly to the Great Keep, with the whole family and Maester William, Thoros, Osha, and Dondarrion following. Grey Wind and Nymeria padded behind them all. The crowds looked at them in wonder as they entered the Great Keep.

Inside they lay Robb on his bed and Grey Wind immediately jumped up and lay at his feet. Arya took off his chain as well as Nymeria's. Thoros looked at Ned Stark. "A fire, in the hearth."

Osha had heard and moved quickly and got a fire going in the hearth near the bed. Thoros turned and looked at them all. "This is not for all eyes. The children should leave."

Arya's mother looked at Sansa and she dragged a crying Rickon away while Hodor left despite the protests of Bran on his back. Catelyn looked at Arya and told her to leave as well but Thoros shook his head. "I need her." Then before Arya's mother could protest, Thoros looked to Maester William. "First, we need to bind his wound and clean him."

Arya had seen wounds before, had caused many herself, and they were never a pretty sight, more so now because it was her brother. They took his armor off, and his wound was bound with a heavy cloth and bandages. Robb's body was washed of the blood and ashes, and then Thoros looked at Arya. "Can you talk to him?"

"Aye," she said.

"Tell him he must join his body again. I cannot save him unless he does that. Do you understand?"

"Aye."

"What in Seven hells is going on?" the Greatjon asked in bewilderment.

"There will be time enough to explain later," Ned Stark told his friend. "I need you to go look in on Lord Bolton and see what he is up to. His son is dead and he may not take that well."

"Aye, my lord. And if he is up to no good do I have permission to kill him and his?"

"Aye, that you do, but report to me first if you can," Ned told him in his grim tone and the Greatjon agreed and left.

Arya closed her eyes but then Gendry spoke. "You'd better sit down first." Arya sat in a chair, looked at Nymeria, closed her eyes again and in a second she was inside her. Suddenly Arya felt the pain of the scratches on her belly but quickly shut it aside.

"Robb?"

"I'm here. What's going on?"

"Thoros said he can save you. But you must join your body again."

"It's…it's painful…more painful than this bite you gave me."

"Sorry, but you must endure it. For a bit."

"Aye…when?"

"Now."

"Aye."

She fled from Nymeria and opened her eyes. "He knows.'

Thoros then bent over Robb and lay his head on his chest. After a few moments he stood. "He is ready." He looked to Gendry and Ned. "You must hold him...tightly."

Gendry took his feet and held them while Ned grasped his shoulders. "That will do," Thoros said and then he stepped over to the fire in the hearth as everyone stepped aside.

Thoros closed his eyes and began to pray. "Lord of Light, protector of all, show me the light, show me the way to help Robb Stark. He walks in the dark lands now and we need him to return to the light, to come out of the shadows. His death was a noble death, done in the cause of justice, and he deserves more life. Show him your power, show him your mercy."

As he finished praying Thoros opened his eyes and reached his hands into the fire and he did not flinch as if he felt no heat at all. And then his hands came out and they were covered in flames. Gasps came from the people in the room, except Dondarrion who Arya suspected had seen this before. Thoros took the flames and put them to his lips and seemed to suck them off his hands and down into his body. In a second he stepped over to Robb and bent to his body. It seemed as if the flames came from Thoros' lips, flowed to Robb's mouth and then went inside of him. Robb's body began to shudder and shake as Gendry and Arya's father held Robb tight. Roslin let out a wail and Catelyn held her in her arms. As tears filled Arya's eyes she prayed harder than she had ever prayed in her life, praying to the old gods and the new to save her big brother.

Suddenly Thoros stepped back and Robb gave a gasp as he breathed deeply and his eyes flew open. He looked up and spoke only one word to the man standing over him holding his shoulders. "Father?"

"Aye, my son," said Ned Stark, fighting back his tears.

"It is done," said Thoros wearily as he collapsed into a chair.

One by one they all looked at Robb in wonder and awe and many tears were shed and gasps of emotion filled the room as Robb was hugged and kissed and prayers were said to the gods, old and new and even red. Sansa and Rickon and Bran were called for and shed tears of joy as well. Grey Wind howled again but no one seemed to care and even Arya's mother ruffled his fur and gave him a hug. Word was passed to the crowds outside and a great cheer went up when they learned the Young Wolf was still alive and many people fell to their knees to thank the gods.

Then Robb asked for her and Arya stood beside his bed and she took his hand, which was warm and strong, not cold and lifeless. He smiled at her. "Thank you, my little wolf," he said and Arya could only nod her head as she cried in joy at having her big brother wolf back again among the living.


	44. Chapter 44 Tyrion

**Ned Stark Lives! Chapter 44 Tyrion**

"How about this one?" Bronn asked Tyrion as they rode by yet another holdfast on their way west to Casterly Rock. This one was on a small hill surrounded by farmland with smallfolk mud and wattle homes dotting the landscape. In a field was a small herd of sheep and a stream wound its way through the fields and cut across the Riverroad under a wooden bridge the long column of men and wagons was now crossing.

"No," Tyrion told him as he looked up at the holdfast. "This one belongs to a branch of the Serrett family, one of Ser Robyn's uncles I believe. He still breathes despite getting on in years and we can't very well ask him to leave his own holdfast. Besides, I thought you wanted a castle. This is just a pile of stones."

"And what's the chance of me getting a castle round these parts?" Bronn retorted. "They're all taken by you and yours and the rest of your high and lordly bannermen."

"Quite true. Then how about Harrenhal?" Tyrion replied, half in jest. "You did take it after all, so your claim is good."

Bronn snorted. "Too bloody big, too bloody ruined, and too bloody cursed and smelly for my liking. Besides, it'll be under siege before long and I prefer my head on my shoulders, thank you very much."

"You think Ser Gregor cannot hold Harrenhal?"

"He'll give it a good try. But they'll be eating rats and boot leather before long even if the supplies we sent them arrive without coming to some grief on the road east."

"Gregor will never give up," growled the Hound from in front of them, where he rode just behind Princess Myrcella and her handmaidens. "His men will be eating each other before he yields to Stannis."

Tyrion thought he may have a point there, but said nothing. They were close to the end of their journey now, three days from Casterly Rock at most, and he was bone tired and did not want to get into a discussion with Sandor Clegane about the brother he wanted to kill more than anything else in the world. Tyrion had to use the Princess to get the Hound to leave Harrenhal before his brother Ser Gregor arrived and Clegane was not likely to ever forgive him for that little trick. And then there had been the effect of Mrycella's words on him, especially when she mentioned Sansa Stark. What was it between the Hound and Sansa Stark? Tyrion knew what had happened on the Kingsroad, how the Hound had saved the Stark girl. He also knew he had defended her when that little shit Joffrey had her beaten back in King's Landing. That little act of mercy had cost Clegane the post he had held for more than twelve years. Yet, that did not seem to bother him in the least. He had a new post now, shield to Myrcella, and he seemed more suited to it. Perhaps the big ugly brute saw himself as someone who could protect little girls from the monsters in the world. The trouble was that the Hound was one of the monsters.

As Bronn and the Hound talked on about what would happen at Harrenhal, Tyrion let his mind drift to what would happen at Casterly Rock when he arrived. They had been on the road almost two weeks now. The first part was the roughest, going over hill and dale to avoid getting too close to Riverrun. They had seen few people and Tyrion was sure their lion banners and their strength of five hundred men on horseback was a deterrent to anybody who thought of doing them harm. They crossed the Red Fork of the Trident at the ford at Stone Mill, southwest of Riverrun. A small party of Tully men was camped nearby, placed to guard the ford, but they didn't approach Tyrion's larger group. Both sides just kept a wary on eye on each other as the Lannister men passed to the west.

Supplies were running low by the time they reached the fortress and mountain pass at the Golden Tooth and Tyrion ordered a halt for three days while they rested and refitted. The Hound and his charges were still at the castle, delayed because Princess Myrcella had taken ill on the road when it had rained for several days during their journey. It was just a cough and a slight fever but the Hound ordered her to bed and the maesters were called to tend her. She had recovered by now, and it was decided to continue the journey west together.

The lord of the Golden Tooth, Leo Lefford, and many of his knights and men at arms were absent with the Lannister army. His heir, Lady Alysanne, asked Tyrion to leave some of his men to help protect the mountain pass against any possible attacks by Stannis and the Tullys. Tyrion consented to give her half his force, knowing they would do more good here than back at Casterly Rock. But he also imposed on the Lady of the Golden Tooth for supplies, some of which he immediately sent east to Harrenhal and the rest he took to re-supply his force as he continued west. She protested, saying her own lands might soon be under siege, but Tyrion made sure she knew who the new Hand of the King was and Lord of the Rock and after that things went more smoothly.

As they got deeper into the Lannister lands, Tyrion brooded more on what he had to do when he finally arrived at the Rock. His moods grew more sullen and he even failed to find solace in his wine or by trading japes with Bronn. Shae was his only comfort, coming to his tent each night if they camped in the open or to his room in whatever lord's holdfast or inn they managed to impose on for the night. She rubbed the aches from his legs and back and poured his wine and made love to him, but even that did nothing to bring him out of his funk.

"Tell me your troubles, my lord," Shae said to him as they lay in bed in a small inn that night, still a few days ride from Casterly Rock. The inn had only a few rooms and most of his men were outside, camped in tents in the fields nearby.

"Which ones?" he replied. "My troubles seem to grow with each passing day."

"Tell me all of them."

Tyrion sighed. "If I am to talk that much I need something for my parched throat first." He got up and poured some wine for them. He handed her a cup and then sat on the edge of the bed and took a deep drink from his own cup.

"First, there is the war and it is not going away," he started. "Stannis Baratheon wants us all dead, especially Tommen and Myrcella."

"How can he kill children?" she asked, somewhat worried. Shae had taken a liking for little Tommen when she had comforted him during their ghastly retreat from the hell fires of King's Landing.

Tyrion snorted. "He will have to if he wins or he will have pretenders popping up for the next dozen or so years to plague him and his rule. That's the first thing any rebel leader should do after a successful rebellion, my dear. Kill all those who could remove him in turn. I learned that from my father. Not that he ever took time to teach me about warfare. That was for Jaime. All I learned about war came from history books or my more genial uncles. I was still a child when Robert crushed Rhaegar on the Trident and Jamie cut King Aerys' throat. Then my father…"

She interrupted him and had a surprised looked on her face. "Didn't your brother stab him in the back?"

"So everyone in the realm believes," Tyrion replied. "No, he cut his royal throat and the Mad King bled to death like a hog being slaughtered. But stabbing him the back, besides the symbolism of the act, makes Jaime seem more of a villain, does it not? It matters not really, for he still besmirched his white cloak on that day no matter how he killed the man he was supposed to protect. Jamie told me all about it one day when we both had too much to drink. Unlike myself, my older brother does not hold his wine well, from a lack of practice no doubt. When in his cups he told me that and much more of what went on in King's Landing that fateful day and those days that came after. How Ned Stark found him sitting on the Iron Throne with blood on his sword, the dead King's body at his feet. How those two noble sers, Amory Lorch and Gregor Clegane, slaughtered Elia and her children. How my father presented the wrapped up bodies to Robert when he finally arrived in the capital."

"King Robert ordered them killed?"

"No, not good old Robert," Tyrion continued with a grunt. "He was far away, recovering from a wound he received on the Trident. My father gave the command. Robert would never have given the order anyway. He saw himself as an honorable man, Jaime said. A man with honor does not kill children. He went to war against the Mad King to stop such things. Ah, but Robert was never much for planning too far ahead. He killed his enemies, and he won the throne. But he hadn't thought much on what would come after. My father did. He knew what had to be done. And so does Stannis."

"What will he do next?"

"If he has any sense, of which I do not doubt he lacks for a moment, he will strike at Harrenhal," Tyrion said. "And he had best do it before this winter Ned Stark always talks about comes roaring down on us with a fury. Have you seen many winters?"

"When I was a girl, in Lorath," Shae replied. "It is north, near Braavos, but not so far north as your north here in Westeros. Rain, we had plenty of. And frost, and some snow, but not much."

"It sounds like our winters in the south. I have seen snow in Lannisport, but again, not much and not for long. If the smallfolk and Ned Stark are to be believed we are in for a winter unlike anyone has seen in Westeros nigh on a hundred years or more. So Stannis had better roust himself from King's Landing quick if he wants Harrenhal before the snow falls."

"Will he? Roust himself, I mean."

"Perhaps," Tyrion replied after another sip of wine. "But his men are as tired of war as ours are. Harrenhal will not be an easy nut to crack, especially with the Mountain in command. We took Harrenhal unawares, but there will be no such trickery this time. A long siege Stannis cannot afford. It will give us time to raise new levies and strike back."

"But the winter…?"

"Yes, it will hurt us as well as Stannis. I do not relish trudging through snowdrifts higher than me to meet Stannis' swords."

"You are the Hand of the King again," Shae reminded him. "And the Lord of Casterly Rock. You do not have to fight. You order other men to fight."

"True enough, but there will be other battles for me to fight back at the Rock."

"With your sister, you mean."

Tyrion grimaced. "Yes, her above all."

"What will you do?"

"I don't know…yet. I must assess the situation there first. Jaime was Hand, but now he is not and I am. How did he arraign that? He has the ear of Tommen, no doubt. And I believe he and Cersei are not seeing eye to eye anymore. My reinstatement alone tells me that much is true. Cersei would never have agreed and would have done all she could to persuade Tommen to not agree. So either Jaime has somehow persuaded her I am needed, or Jaime now has the little King's ear and he is ignoring his mother's wishes. In either case, Cersei will be seething."

"Cunt," Shae said with an edge of anger in her voice.

Tyrion could not help but laugh. "Yes. She is that and has used hers far too long to get what she wants. That won't work with me. And maybe it won't work with Jaime anymore, either."

She stared at him for a long moment. "So it is true, what Stannis says?"

He looked at her and wondered why he had said that, revealing his brother and sister's dreadful secret. Maybe it was the wine or he was just tired, or maybe he just didn't care anymore. Or maybe it was her. Shae had been by his side and his bed for many months now, and knew most of what he knew. Pillow talk was dangerous, especially with whores who may be in the pay of someone else. But she was not in someone else's pay, as far as he knew. Maybe he just didn't care to hide his siblings' secret anymore. Bronn knew of course, had heard Ned Stark say it often enough on the road to Harrenhal. His Uncle Kevan had guessed it also even though Tyrion had never confirmed it. Hell, the whole realm knew for that matter, and believed it, despite the lack of proof.

"Yes…sadly all his lies are not lies," he told her. "Jaime is their father. Tommen has no right to the throne anymore than Joffrey did. By all the laws of the Seven Kingdoms it belongs to Stannis."

"Gods," Shae said quietly. "Then all this shit, this killing and war, it is all for nothing?" She wasn't angry, just trying to understand what it all meant.

"Not for nothing," Tyrion swiftly answered. "For our lives. We fight for our lives and our land and for our people. If Stannis wins no doubt the history books will say it was justified, that he took the throne from a bastard pretender. He will be called Stannis the Just. Perhaps Stannis the Stern. Or maybe Stannis the Red if his red whore has her way and all of Westeros falls under the sway of the Lord of Light. And the red won't be for his god, but for the blood that will be spilled when he tries to impose beliefs on people who don't want to be told how to worship. They will fight…wait…yes. Of course they will."

A germ of an idea was born in that instant, as he thought on what Stannis and his red woman would do to Westeros if they defeated the Lannisters. It was so obvious, Tyrion didn't know why he hadn't thought of it before. The people of Westeros would not stand for a new god replacing their old ones. They were tolerant of many religions but would not stand anyone telling them how to worship. The Seven were proof of that, entrenched in Westeros for more than six millennium now, but many still worshiped the old gods and the Drowned God and many others.

He told his idea to Shae and she promised to keep it to herself and then for the first time in many nights, Tyrion Lannister slept well, knowing at last what he had to do to win this war and save the Seven Kingdoms.

Two days later they could see Casterly Rock in the distance, the massive castle looming on its headland as if carved from the rock itself.

"So that's the Rock," Bronn said as they neared it. "Never fallen, has it?"

"Never," Tyrion replied and he could see Bronn looking it over with his professional sellsword's eye.

"Might be I could find a way," Bronn said after a few moments examination.

"If you ever do, keep it to yourself," Tyrion told him. "My brother and uncle and many others may decide to kill you to keep such information from ever reaching Stannis' or others' ears."

Bronn seemed put out by his comment. "I told you more than once I'm not changing my cloak, especially not to stern bloody Stannis. He'll likely kill me anyway no matter what useful things I tell him."

"Most likely. I know you won't turn your cloak, but others may not be so understanding."

"Fair enough."

As they had approached the castle from the northeast, there was no road to the top, only a sheer cliff face. The road up to the castle was on the south side, facing Lannisport. So to reach the Lion's Mouth gate and fortress that protected the entrance to the Rock they had to pass over a high hill to the east of the Rock, along a dirt road where several gold mine entrances lay. Many men were here, some of them soldiers on guard duty, others working by the entrances, tipping wooden wheeled crates filled with ore into water fed sluices, which washed away the dirt and revealed the small grains of gold mixed in. It was a slow and labor intensive business, but the wealth it revealed made the family powerful. Tyrion noted that all of the mine entrances seemed busy, no doubt trying to make up for the coin paid to the Riverlands and the coin needed for the war and the repairs to Lannisport.

Bronn stared at the openings in the rocky hill and the workers as they rode by and Tyrion explained what they were. "Gold mines? Can I have these lands for my reward?"

Tyrion laughed, in a good mood for a change. "Now, now. Gold I promised, and land as well, but not land filled with gold. Let us find out who has died and who has no heirs and you will get those lands. We also have to think of a title for you. Perhaps Jaime can make you a knight first, and then we'll raise you to a lordship later."

"Sounds proper," Bronn answered. "What will be my sigil?"

"Five towers," said Pod, riding just behind them and listening in. He was so quiet Tyrion sometimes forgot he was there and then when Pod spoke his voice surprised Tyrion.

"Five towers?" Bronn said to Pod with puzzlement. "What in blazes for?"

"Harrenhal," Pod replied as if it was obvious. "For your conquest. Our conquest…I mean…we…you took it. So it can be your sigil."

Bronn raised his eyebrows and looked over at Tyrion. "Ser Bronn of the Five Towers? Sound good?"

"Lovely," Tyrion replied. "Then we'll have to make sure your lands have five tall towers as well."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Bronn answered. "Towers cost coin to build. One short one will do for now."

"As you wish," Tyrion replied. Perhaps he would build the five towers for him anyway. He had money enough, and the power to do it, now that he was Hand of the King and soon to be confirmed as Lord of Casterly Rock. That was another detail he had to take care of quickly. The only likely resistance would come from Cersei. His father's will was another matter, but he was sure that a will that went against the laws of the kingdoms could be set aside. Jaime and Ser Kevan would support him, as would his Aunt Genna, and most of the army, and he was sure Tommen would have no objections.

As they crested the hill and started down the other side Tyrion got his first look at Lannisport in a long time. It had been more than a moon's turn since the ironmen attacked, and much of the damage had been cleaned up. The harbor still had a few sunken ships in it. He could see no masts sticking up out of the water, but from their vantage point they could see the shadows of the hulls of at least two large galleys and one smaller one under the water. That would be a hazard to navigation and they would have to deal with them somehow.

On the stone mole that protected the harbor Tyrion could see a party of men working on the lighthouse, repairing its stone walls that seem blackened by fire. The docks and wharves also swarmed with workers, tearing down damaged buildings and putting up new ones. Far to the south side of the city Tyrion could just make out the dry docks and saw the skeletal woodwork of at least two warships already taking shape. Good, he thought. The fleet needed to be rebuilt, and soon.

As they approached the Lion's Mouth Tyrion told Ser Robyn to lead his men to the nearby army camp and find space for his men. Shae was with the supply wagons at the rear and she would have to stay in camp until Tyrion could figure out what to do with her. He had planned to drop her off at some town or village or holdfast along the way but the more he thought of it the more risky it seemed. Too many people would ask too many questions. He had to have a safe place with people he trusted completely or Cersei would find out and that would be bad. So for now Shae had to go on pretending to be a servant, much to her displeasure.

Tyrion, Bronn, and Podrick continued on to the Lion's Mouth, with the Princess, her handmaidens, and the Hound behind them, and an escort of ten knights riding behind them as well. As he approached a trumpet heralded his arrival and many soldiers bent the knee as he rode past and through the gates. That was a good sign. At least they remembered who he was and how to treat him with proper respect. Or maybe that had been for the Princess.

"That must have felt good," Bronn said as they rode past the Lion's Mouth entrance and into the fortress.

"Yes, indeed," Tyrion answered, acting as if it was for him and he had expected it. It mattered not now, as they rode into and through the fortress, past the raised portcullis at the rear, and continued on up the road. He looked over at Bronn and shook his head as if disappointed in something. "Your garb. We will have to do something about it."

"What?" he said in surprise. Bronn was wearing his usual black clothing and almost black leather armor. "Now don't go thinking you're going to gussy me up like some fancy dandy in silks and furs and gilded plate armor."

"No, of course not. But as captain of my guards I think you should have some more refined attire. Chain mail at least, and a proper sigil for your surcoat once Jaime knights you."

"What colors should he have, my lord?" Pod asked.

"Not Lannister colors," Bronn swiftly answered. "I may be in your pay but I'm not one of you lot."

Any other lord would have taken that for an insult but Tyrion cared not in the least. "Black, I should think, to fit your sense of humor and the black walls of Harrenhal. Trimmed with silver for your love of the coin."

Bronn grinned. "I like it already. Send your finest tailors to my quarters. I will have quarters, won't I?"

"Of course. Nothing but the best for us. For the nonce at least. But we best not grow too comfortable my friends unless we want Stannis to catch us with our breeches down. I have a mind to take a tour of our lands when I settle business with my family. We shall make sure the populace is ready for winter and our defenses ready for anything. On these journeys perhaps we will find your new holdfast and lands…Ser Bronn."

After some time they finally came to the main gates of The Rock. As they entered the castle once more trumpets blew and a large crowd was waiting for them in main courtyard, mainly made up of the noble ladies and lords of the west, including Ser Kevan and Tyrion's Aunt Genna. King Tommen was there as well, in his fine regal attire with his little crown on his little head. By his right side stood Jaime in his white armor and cloak, and on the King's left side stood his mother, dressed in her best and looking as lovely as she always did. Cersei even smiled, but it was a cold smile, and it did not reach her eyes, which were full of hate as she looked on Tyrion. Then her eyes flicked past him and as they lit up he was sure she was looking at Myrcella.

They all dismounted and followed Tyrion's lead as he bent the knee to Tommen. "I have returned as commanded Your Grace. I am yours to command."

"Welcome, Uncle," Tommen said formally as all was quiet and all ears listened and all eyes watched. "I command you to be Hand of the King once more."

"I humbly accept, Your Grace."

"Rise, my Hand," Tommen said. Tyrion rose as did the others. Then Myrcella let out a small sob and rushed forward, right into her mother's arms. Cersei hugged her tight and then Tommen hugged her as well and then Cersei started to lead Myrcella away, back into the castle. Tommen went to follow but then stopped and returned to Jaime's side. Cersei gave him an impatient look. "Come, my King, we must give your sister and heir a proper greeting."

"I need talk with my uncles," Tommen replied stiffly. "About the war."

Oh, this was interesting, Tyrion thought. The little boy was asserting himself already. That was good as long as he didn't turn into a little shit like his older brother had.

Cersei glared at him and then to Jaime and Tyrion. "That can wait," Cersei said, putting on her brightest smile as she looked to Tommen again. "Your uncle has ridden long and needs to refresh himself first."

"Quite so, Your Grace," Tyrion said to Tommen. "We shall talk later."

But Tommen turned to Jaime. "Ser Uncle?"

"Yes, I think your mother is correct," Jaime replied. "Spend some time with your sister and we shall speak later today, Your Grace."

Only then did Tommen consent to follow Cersei. As she left Cersei gave both Jaime and Tyrion withering looks and then turned on her heel and went inside the castle with her children, and Tommen's Kingsguard and Myrcella's handmaidens close behind. The Hound moved to follow them but Jaime stopped him.

"We need have words later, Clegane, concerning your duties now."

"My duty is with the Princess, my lord," Clegane replied in his rough voice. "The Queen commanded me to be her shield."

"You're still a member of the Kingsguard so you obey my commands first and foremost," Jaime reminded him. "We will speak later."

"My lord," Clegane merely grunted and moved off to follow Myrcella.

"Well, my brother dear, it seems you are in charge around these parts," Tyrion quipped.

"Not anymore," Jaime said with a grin. "Thank the gods you are here. We have much to talk on."

"Indeed," Tyrion replied as his Uncle Kevan and Aunt Genna hovered nearby. "Uncle Kevan. I thought to find you with the army."

"I am a member of the King's small council now," Ser Kevan replied. "And the army is not going anywhere for the time being."

"True enough," Tyrion replied and knew he wanted to have words with him and Jaime both about what had happened in front of King's Landing, but it would have to wait for a more private moment. "How fairs Lancel?"

"We left him at Deep Den, but word is that he is recovering well, thank the gods."

"Send him my best," Tyrion said and then opened his arms for a bone crushing hug from his robust aunt.

"My dearest Tyrion," Genna said after he kissed her cheek. "We have sore need of your wisdom."

"I'll do what I can," Tyrion replied. He looked about. "Where is Uncle Emmon?"

"Says he has an upset stomach and begs your forgiveness for missing your return," she replied. She then lowered her voice. "No doubt he is still pouting over being passed over for Hand of the King...again. You would think after being imprisoned for more than a fortnight he would not want to get so close to the fire again. It's his Frey blood. They all want to be the big fish in the pond."

"I must see him later," Tyrion said. To ask him how he fucked everything up in his short time as Hand of the King.

For the next little while Tyrion greeted more people and all congratulated him on being Hand again. Tyrion remembered most of them, Lannisters for the most part, from different family branches. More than one was here for some favor or other Tyrion knew, and he was also sure more than one was wondering how much they could oppose his authority, if he truly was Lord of the Rock now. Try me, my friends, Tyrion thought as he smiled and greeted all, try me and you'll see that I am my father's son and that the lion still has sharp claws.

"I think a bath, a rest and some food are in order before we get to the business of running the realm and winning our war," Tyrion told Jaime and his aunt and uncle after he grew weary of meeting people. Jaime had some servants show Bronn and Podrick where they would be housed and then Tyrion headed for his own quarters with Jaime trailing behind.

"That was wearisome," Tyrion said as they moved alone down a corridor where Tyrion's rooms were located. His quarters were always on a lower level, seeing as his stunted and twisted legs were never well suited for climbing stairs. "Couldn't it have waited?"

"Cersei's idea, which Tommen agreed to," Jaime told him. "Said she could not wait to see Myrcella and that you should be seen by all as you accepted the position of Hand. Again."

"Theater," Tyrion grumbled. "No doubt she wanted them to see me travel stained and weary. From your letter and my new title I surmised you had her under control."

Jaime grunted. "A small concession. As for the rest, she has no more power as far as the realm is concerned."

They had reached the doors of his rooms as Jaime said this and an elderly serving woman was waiting. "A bath has been drawn for you, my lord," said the woman. "Fresh clothing is on your bed."

"There is wine as well?" Tyrion asked.

"Yes, my lord."

"I do not wish to be disturbed for the next while," Tyrion commanded and then sent the servant on her way as he and Jaime entered the rooms.

The outer room was his sitting room and study, and it was mainly filled with shelves on which hundreds of books were sitting. A reading table was also present, with a chair next to it, both built specially for Tyrion's small body. In fact, all of the furniture was smallish in size, except for two normal sized chairs where visitors could sit. Short ladders reached up to the higher book shelves and a small wooden step was built next to the window so Tyrion could easily open the shutters and look out on the ocean.

In the corner in his bedroom next door his small bathtub awaited him, steaming hot and with fresh towels on the side. The room was dominated by a massive four poster bed, bigger than the beds most normal sized lords and ladies had. Tyrion had always had difficulty sleeping, even in the most comfortable of beds, and this monstrosity was very comfortable. The mattress filled with downy feathers helped ease the aches that plagued his legs and back at times and the many pillows helped prop him up so he could read in comfort while abed. A stack of books still sat on his bedside end table, next to a candle holder. Tyrion supposed the dust had been cleaned recently when his return after so much time absent was expected. He noticed the books were the same ones he had left there when he had last been here almost…when was it?

"When was it, Jaime?" he said aloud. "When were we last here together?"

"I suppose it was almost three years ago," his brother replied.

"Yes…three years. So much has happened since then."

Tyrion turned from his bedroom and back into the outer room and sat in his chair and bid Jaime to sit as well. A crystal decanter of wine was on the table as were two crystal glasses and some bread and cheese. Tyrion poured for them but Jaime held up a hand.

"Not for me, dear brother. I do not have the love of the grape that you do, as you well know. Besides, I believe I shall need a clear head in the days to come."

"A clear head I always have," Tyrion answered. "Wine makes it that much clearer." He took a drink. "Now, before my bath grows cold, tell me how you managed all you have done."

Jaime's face grew serious and then he just sighed. "First, you should know that Cersei and I have had a falling out."

"I noticed her cold demeanor towards you. What happened?"

He seemed uncomfortable and shifted on his chair. "I think that is a story for another time."

"Fair enough. Please continue."

"After that…once I put aside how I feel about her, then I could see how to solve that little problem of her trying to ruin us all by being in charge. She had already agreed to let me be Hand. After that it was easy to take Tommen in hand, so to speak. He is a small boy still, but his love of kittens and his easy way of crying at the least minor problem and other 'unmanly' things are signs of weakness that our king should not have."

"He is still a boy."

"Yes, but in time he will be a man and we do not need a king who is still a boy in his heart."

"Like Aegon the Fifth."

Jaime looked at him in puzzlement. "You know I am not as well read as you, brother."

Tyrion took another sip of wine and began to talk on history, a subject he would gladly waste away the day talking on if he had the time to spare. "Aegon the Fifth grew up as a genial lad who never expected to take power. His father had older brothers and he had older brothers as well. But through chance and bad luck, all of them died except his older brother Aemon, the current maester of Castle Black and the Night's Watch. Their two elder brothers had left a son and daughter behind, but both were very young, and the girl was feeble minded and the boy just a babe. A great council was called to determine the succession. When offered the crown Maester Aemon refused, having already spent years forging his chain. He was committed to a life as a maester. He said the crown should go to his younger brother Aegon. When Aegon was crowned he was in his early thirties, but still very genial and friendly to all, much like a boy. In most men these qualities would have been admired, but they are poor qualities for a king, you no doubt agree."

"Qualities that will get you killed by the first usurper who senses weakness."

"Exactly. Maester Aemon knew that there would be plots against his brother so he joined the Night's Watch to forestall any such plots involving himself, since men of the Night's Watch give up all rights to inheritance and titles. Before he left for the Wall, Aemon told his newly crowned brother that it was time for the boy in him to die. It was time for the man in him to be born, to come forth and rule as a man should rule."

"How do you know all this?"

Tyrion waved his hands at the books that lined the walls. "It's in one of these, somewhere, written down by someone who wrote a history of Aegon's rule. I am kicking myself now for when I was at the Wall I should have asked Aemon whether what he said to his brother was true or not. Anyway, the point is that Aegon did change his ways and ruled as a man should rule."

"Didn't Aegon die at Summerhall?"

"Ah, yes. More madness there than anything else. They tried to hatch a dragon's egg with fire and the fire grew out of control. Many died that terrible day, including his heir, Prince Duncan. And that led to his second son Jaehaerys becoming king, and then his son Mad Aerys and well…you know the rest. So," Tyrion said, pausing as he took another drink of wine. "Tommen needs to become a man. We can agree on that at least."

"And now he does as well," Jaime said. "I have had him training with sword and lance, a blunted sword and a short lance, but still he is learning. He loves it, and of course Cersei is terrified, worried about him getting hurt. She has always hovered over him but now with Joffrey dead she fears for him more than ever. But Tommen quickly put her in her place. Told her that he was King and as King he needed to learn how to fight." Jaime laughed. "She was furious but Tommen kept on practicing."

"Where has he developed this sudden growth of backbone that I saw him display in the courtyard?"

Jaime grinned. "Why from me, dear brother. I quickly sensed he craved the attention of a man in his life. His father…sorry…King Robert… never gave him a second thought or taught him a thing. He has been brought up surrounded by his mother and sister and other women."

"Now he has his true father instead of his mother."

"Yes…well, that is something he should never know."

For a moment there Tyrion thought he saw some doubt in Jaime's eyes, as if he wished Tommie knew he was his true father. But maybe he just imagined it. "Of course," Tyrion replied." Now…about me being Hand. How did you arraign that?"

"A few days after I became Hand, Tommen formed a new small council, under my and Uncle Kevan's guidance, of course. We waited until evening when Cersei was abed. Tommen signed and stamped all of the papers. You are Hand, I am the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Uncle Emmon is master of coin,…"

"Not a Lannister?" Tyrion interrupted.

"We have plenty of good men in positions in the mints and mines and trading houses to forestall Uncle Emmon making a botch of things. Besides Aunt Genna rules him as we both know and she is most definitely a Lannister despite being married to a Frey."

"Quite true. Do continue."

"Uncle Kevan is still commander of the army plus a member of the council, with no official title except advisor. Admiral Lefford is master of ships. The maester of the Rock will become a Grand Maester and join us once the greybeards in the Citadel get around to appointing him as such."

"They usually like to decide those things themselves," Tyrion answered. "Besides, the realm has one Grand Maester already and that is usually all there is."

"Pycelle," Jaime grunted. "He is a Grand Maester for a false king."

Tyrion raised his eyebrows. "Let us be careful who we brand false, dear brother."

Now Jaime grew a bit angry. "You best keep such thoughts to yourself. Or do you want the whole realm to turn against us?"

"Which part hasn't already?" Tyrion shot back.

Jaime calmed himself a bit. "None. What do we do about that?"

"I have a plan, which we will discuss in council. No, not to worry, I will defend Tommen's right to the crown to the death if it comes to it. If he goes then we all go as well and that would not do at all. Now, how did Cersei take this new small council when she found out?"

"She was furious as we expected. Tommen loudly told her in front of us all that there was no place for her on the council." Jaime grinned a bit, as if recalling the incident. "She commanded him to go to his rooms. He stood from the table and we thought he would leave but then he shouted at her to leave. He told his guards to remove her from the room if she would not go. She seethed and called him an insolent brat and…well, she let fly and told him to do as his mother commanded. Tommen hesitated for just a second but then he looked at me, I gave him a reassuring grin, and he got back in his chair. She knew she was lost then. We all just stared at her and no one said a word and she finally left. She had no friends in that room. Uncle Emmon and Admiral Lefford she had imprisoned for the debacle caused by the ironmen. She has no love for Uncle Kevan and he has none for her. And well….I and Cersei…I fear things are never going to be the same again."

"I think that was a mistake, leaving her off the council," Tyrion said and Jaime just stared at him, as if he could not believe what he was hearing.

"I thought you would applaud me, dear brother."

"In the past I might have," Tyrion replied. "But I think a Cersei scorned and without things to occupy her time will be more of a danger to us. I have a mind to invite her back to council."

Jaime shook his head. "She won't accept."

Tyrion raised his eyebrows. "Oh, I think she will. She wants to be where the action is. She has our taste for that at least. And if she is on the council she may think she can bring Tommen and the realm back under her control. There, in the open, we can more easily see her plots and stop her. Outside of the council, with time on her hands to gather friends and whisper behind our backs, it may be more difficult to know what she is up to."

Jaime shook his head once more. "Are you mad? Or just too devious for your own good?"

Tyrion grinned. "That has yet to be seen, dear brother. Now, there is one more issue. Am I Lord of Casterly Rock?"

"Yes."

One word and Tyrion felt a sudden easing of tension in his body. "Good. How did you arrange that?"

"By royal decree Tommen overturned Father's will. At least the part about who becomes Lord of the Rock. He had named me heir, but by the law I cannot inherit. Cersei raged about that, as you can imagine, told me to cast off my white cloak and do my duty for our family. I declined, again, and she raged some more when I told her you would become our lord. She claimed we had no right, as we went against Father's last wishes. But I told her the Rock needed a lord and if not me and if not you then who? She could not inherit as long as a male heir lives and did not give up his claim, as I am sure you won't."

"Not ever," Tyrion replied. "If we followed the strict history of Casterly Rock, in the past even the deceased lord's daughters have been passed over if a strong male relative lives, such as the lord's brother."

"That bit of history I did know," Jaime told her. "Kevan was next in line of succession in that case and when she heard that she turned pale. I imagine she thought he would make her become a septa or join the Silent Sisters or something equally repugnant to get her even further away from Tommen. After that she did not resist the decision to make you lord of Casterly Rock."

"Thank you," Tyrion said, with all sincerity.

Jaime smiled in his dashing way. "You're welcome…my lord."

Tyrion sighed and rolled his mismatched eyes. "Come now. Let us not start that." Tyrion stood and stretched his arms. "I think it is time I removed these stinking clothes and have my bath before it gets cold."

"We have a meeting after the supper hour."

The thought of food made Tyrion's stomach rumble. After weeks on the road mainly eating salt fish and beef and hard bread and cheese, he wanted some real food. "Where is the council chamber? Father's solar?"

"Your solar now, if you choose to take Father's old rooms."

Tyrion hadn't thought on that yet. Sleeping in a dead man's bed might not be such a good idea. Too many ghosts. "Actually, I think I shall remain here for the time being."

"Very well. The small council chamber is near the great hall, or the throne room as we are now calling it. I'll send someone for you."

"I am sure I can find my way. I did grow up here, you recall. If you have time tell the others to expect Cersei there."

"She will not accept any gifts from you, dear brother."

"Then I will not make it a gift."

"I would like to be there to hear it all, but she would only throw things at me and demand I leave."

"Things are that bad?"

"I took her son away from her. She will not forgive me that." With those words Jaime bid him goodbye for now and left.

After Jaime left Tyrion had his bath and only stayed a short time, as the water was more warm than hot by now. He dressed in fresh clothing and then made his way to Cersei's rooms. Time to get this over with. Tyrion had never been one to avoid confrontations with adversaries. In fact, he rather enjoyed them, unlike most people. Maybe that was why he wanted to be Hand of the King again so badly. As he had soaked in his bath Tyrion had thought of a few ways to deal with Cersei. How things were when he found her would determine how he acted.

Outside the doors stood Ser Preston Greenfield and the Hound. It was the good the Hound was here, Tyrion thought. Now he could carry on with one of his plans as he intended.

"The Queen does not wished to be disturbed, my lord," Ser Preston told him.

"I am here on official state business," Tyrion told him. "Tell my dear sister that if you would, ser."

Preston grunted and went inside. Tyrion looked at the Hound. He looked exhausted and still smelled of the road. "You need a bath and a rest, Clegane."

"I am on duty."

"I want you to come inside with me and then after we are done you are relieved of your duties for the rest of the day."

Before the Hound could answer Ser Preston returned. "The Queen will see you, my lord."

"Come, Clegane," Tyrion said and he and the Hound entered the rooms.

Cersei had several rooms, large and with plenty of windows facing the sea. The entrance led to Cersei's sitting room, and she was at a table with Myrcella at her side. The young Princess looked cleaner and was in fresh clothing. She also seemed happier than Tyrion had seen her in a long time. Tyrion had expected Tommen to be here as well, but he was not.

"Hello, sister dear," he said, trying to be pleasant.

But Cersei would not even be civil to him, as he expected. "Say what you will and then get out."

"Where is the King?"

Myrcella answered. "Uncle Jaime took him for his riding lessons."

"I am sure you will see him at your council meetings," Cersei said with venom in her tone.

"No, actually I am glad he is not here. I would not want him to hear what I must tell you."

"Then Myrcella best not hear it as well," Cersei replied and then looked to the Hound. "Take the Princess to her quarters."

"No," Tyrion said. "She needs to stay. So does Clegane. We have something to tell you."

Myrcella suddenly went pale and stared wide eyed at Tyrion, understanding what he meant to do. "No…you promised…at Harrenhal."

"What's all this?" Cersei demanded sharply, clutching Mrycella's hand. "What has the monster done to you, my sweet girl?"

"Nothing," Myrcella said quickly.

"Did he threaten you? Don't be frightened, my daughter. Tell me the truth."

"Still making something out of nothing, I see," Tyrion replied with a weary sigh. "Clegane, tell her."

"It's not my place to say," the Hound replied.

"See Cersei?" Tyrion said to her. "They are all afraid to tell you the truth, even this man who is afraid of nothing."

She glared at him. "What truth?"

"The truth about your own son."

"Tommen? What…?"

"Not Tommen," Myrcella suddenly said. "Joffrey."

Now Cersei grew still. She sat back in her chair and let go of Myrcella's hand. "What about Joffrey?"

Tyrion looked to Myrcella and she gulped and nodded. Then she looked at her mother took a deep breath and spoke quickly. "At Winterfell, Joffrey gave the man the knife, the man who attacked Brandon Stark."

Cersei just stared at her, unable to speak for a moment. "It can't be true," she finally said in a bare whisper. "Your uncle is lying to you."

"He did not tell me this, Mother," the Princess replied. "I told him….at Harrenhal. Sandor, tell her, please."

"The Princess speaks the truth, Your Grace," the Hound said and then, in bits and pieces, as Cersei tried to poke holes in their story, they told her what they had told Tyrion at Harrenhal. When it was done, she commanded Clegane to take Myrcella back to her quarters.

After they were gone Tyrion sat at the table opposite his sister. She was defeated, he could see, all the energy to be mad at him gone.

Finally, she looked across the table at him. "At King's Landing I once told you how I feared something was wrong with Joff."

"I recall."

"Gods," she said with a shake of her head. "Why? Why did he do it?"

At least she believed it was true. "We know not. The Hound thought he was playing some game of his."

"He should have told us long ago!" she almost screamed.

"Yes…but that matters not now. Joffrey is dead. And what could we have done even if we had known the truth?"

She sighed. "Nothing. He was the heir."

"Exactly."

She stared at Tyrion for a long moment. "You have told this to Jaime?"

"No. I thought you needed to know first. I will let you decide whether to tell him or not."

"We…we are not talking much these days."

"So I have heard."

"Did he tell you why?"

"Not exactly."

She snorted. "He had Tommen remove me from the small council. I am sure he gloated when he told you that."

"He did not gloat. Cersei…we must end this bickering between us."

She snorted. "Never. You may be Hand of the King and Lord of the Rock, and you may fool Jaime and Kevan and Genna and the rest of those simpering fools, but I know you for the vile little monster you are. Father did not name you his heir because he knew you would turn his legacy into a long parade of debauchery, drunkenness, and whoring."

"I am the heir."

"And I am the Queen Regent! My son is the King and don't think for a moment that Jaime has won him over completely! I am his mother and I know what he needs and wants. While Robert was whoring and drinking and hunting, and while Jaime was playing with his sword, I was the one who listened to him cry and held his hand and rocked him to sleep at night. Not them. Not you. Me!"

"No one is denying your rights as mother to the King, Cersei."

"Jaime is certainly trying his best to shut me out of Tommen's life."

"We can change that."

She was about to shout at him again but paused as if uncertain of what was going on. "Speak plainly," she finally said. "Like Father, I am not able to stand your japes."

"I want you to rejoin the small council."

That shook her and she gaped at him, and then her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "In what role?"

"Advisor."

She laughed at him. "Advisor? You mean observer, don't you? After what happened the last time I was at a small council meeting no one will listen to me. They all hate me."

"I will listen."

"And what power will I have to make decisions?"

"None. The final say rests with the King and myself. And as the King is a boy of almost nine, well…need I say more?" She said nothing, just stared at him. "Will you accept or not?"

She shook her head. "No…I will not come crawling on my knees to that pile of lackeys."

"As you wish," Tyrion said and then he stood. "I have need of nourishment and then a small council meeting to attend. If you change your mind…I am sure you know the way."

"One more thing," Cersei said as Tyrion reached the door. "You may be Lord of Casterly Rock now, but you will never have my support. Some day I will tear you down."

"I fully expect you will try," Tyrion told her calmly. Then he left.

Tyrion felt good after that little meeting, despite her last threatening words. He had chosen to tell her about Joffrey to disarm her anger long enough for him to tell her the real reasons he had come. It worked and she listened and refused as he had also expected. Cersei was nothing if not proud and she would not outright accept his offer. But she was also power hungry, and she would come, he was certain.

Tyrion was not wrong. After he ate his fill and drank some wine with his Aunt Genna, who filled him in on all the gossip at the Rock, he saw in on Bronn and Pod and spoke to them for a bit. Then he and Bronn went to find the small council room. They ran into Ser Kevan on the way.

"Is she coming?" Ser Kevan asked without even a hello. He looked pensive.

"We shall see," Tyrion replied, and after leaving Bronn outside, they entered the room, the first to arrive. Or so Tyrion thought.

Cersei was already there, sitting on one side of a table that had two large candle holders with many lit candles in them. She was sitting directly across from the King's seat. "Uncle," she said formally to Ser Kevan and did not say a word to Tyrion, while Tyrion did his best to keep the look of satisfaction off his face.

"Your Grace…Tyrion tells me you will be rejoining us."

"Yes," was all she said.

Ten minutes later and all were seated, with Tyrion to the right of the King, and his mother across from him with the others around the table. Emmon Frey looked a little grey and perhaps he really did have a bad stomach. Then again, at dinner his Aunt Genna had told him Tommen ordered Emmon to give up the sour leaf so perhaps he was suffering from a lack of his favorite stimulating vegetation.

Admiral Lefford, the master of ships, was a tall, balding, clean shaven elderly man who had to be at least as old as Ser Kevan. Tyrion barely remembered him from when he was a boy and when the Admiral had more hair. Tyrion had no love for the sea, being prone to seasickness, and therefore knew little of the Lannister navy. That would have to change.

Both Emmon and Lefford greeted Cersei formally, with a coldness behind their eyes. She had imprisoned both of them and Tyrion intended to find out all that had happened, but not tonight.

Jaime and the King arrived last. Jaime hesitated to sit next to Cersei but it was the only seat left. "Sister, how good of you to join us again," Jaime said, covering up his discomfort with one of his dashing grins.

Cersei said nothing and after a long moment where the tension in the air was thick enough to choke a man, Tyrion looked to Tommen, who seemed to be happy as usual. The little King smiled. "You can begin the meeting, Uncle."

"Thank you, Your Grace," Tyrion replied and then he looked them all in the eye and began to speak.

"We stand alone in the realm," Tyrion began. "Everyone despises us. Our enemies gather around us. Soon Harrenhal will be under siege and before long even our own homelands if winter does not forestall Stannis. Even if winter brings us a reprieve, Stannis will win the support of every noble house in the land by the time spring comes. The Starks will be refreshed, the Riverlands as well. And perhaps even Dorne and the Vale will join him before long. As long as Stannis holds the Tyrell children, the Reach will follow him. Then once they gather the first harvest they will muster their strength and march on us. Frankly, we cannot stand against the whole power of Westeros."

They were silent for a long moment as these words sunk in. Finally, Emmon Frey cleared his throat. "Can we not sue for peace?"

"Never!" Jaime said strongly at once as the others glared at Emmon and he withered under their baleful looks. Tyrion had expected as much from him. He was a Frey after all, and his father wasn't called the Late Walder Frey for nothing. Always hedging their bets, these Freys.

"Stannis will not accept anything but total surrender," Ser Kevan was saying. "And we all know what that means."

Cersei cast a worried eye at her son and so did everyone else. Tommen just grinned back at them. "No surrender," he said in a clear voice.

"As you command, Your Grace," Tyrion replied. "Then we must find a way to win this war." He did not wait for any suggestions but plowed on ahead. "We need to stand strong, together, all of us. We cannot seem weak, not for an instant. And not for an instant will we stand for any treason, anyone trying to win Stannis' favor by surrendering a castle or stronghold without a fight. Therefore, every major family in the west will at once send a son or daughter or other close relative to be fostered at Casterly Rock."

There was a long silence as the implications of this order sunk in. "They will protest this," said Ser Kevan. "Some of these families have been staunchly loyal to us for centuries."

"Then they should have no reason to refuse," Tyrion replied. "The King needs people his own age around him, as companions. You would like that, wouldn't you, Your Grace?"

"Yes, Uncle. The more that come the more fun we can have."

"These families should be honored to send companions for you, Your Grace," Emmon Frey added, trying to recover the loss of face he recently suffered.

"Companions?" Jaime said with raised eyebrows.

"Certainly," Tyrion said. "Companions to the King. Oh, and if any lord refuses this honor he will lose his titles and lands."

Cersei spoke up. "If any lord resists, send a singer to play the 'Rains of Castemere' outside his walls. They will soon get the message."

"Quite so," Tyrion said. "Are we agreed?"

No one protested, despite the doubt Tyrion saw in their eyes. "Good. We will send the ravens on the morrow. Now, to the war at sea. Where is the Iron Fleet now?"

"As far as we know, still to the south," said Lefford. "I have what few ships we have left out on patrol to the south and they will send any warnings."

"How did they get so close without us knowing the last time?"

Lefford looked a bit uncomfortable. "They did not sail along the coast so we had no warnings. They sailed far out to sea and as night came they sailed for Lannisport under cover of darkness."

"That's some fine sailing," Tyrion observed.

"Indeed," Lefford replied and he seemed impressed.

Cersei snorted. "You fools let them sail right into the harbor!"

"We had no warning, Your Grace!" Lefford told her strongly. "You have already hung my two colleagues for our supposed follies."

Cersei looked ready to retort but Tyrion interrupted. "This is just the kind of bickering we must not have. What is done is done. Let us look to the future. To counter any more incursions we need ships. Many. How goes the building?"

"Slow, my lord," Lefford reported. "We need seasoned timber to make strong ships, and little of that was laid down in recent years. I can promise at least ten long ships in the coming months. More will take time."

"Can't we buy ships?"

"Most certainly," Lefford said, seizing on the idea. "From merchants. We can convert them to warships. The quality would not be as good, but it will do for defensive purposes for the nonce."

"That would be expensive," Emmon told them.

"Gold we have a plenty," Jaime reminded his uncle. "It is time we spent some."

"Much has been going out of late," Emmon reported. "Half a million dragons to the Riverlands alone, and a half million more to go."

"Stop all payments to the Riverlands at once," Tyrion commanded him.

"You would break your father's treaty?" Ser Kevan asked in a disapproving tone.

"That treaty was already broken when Father refused to send Myrcella north," Tyrion reminded him.

"Yes," Cersei jumped in. "The Tullys have enough of our gold. We need it now more than ever."

"There is still the matter of some hostages being held at Riverrun," Ser Kevan added.

"Do we still hold some of their knights and lords?" Tyrion asked.

"Yes," Jaime said. "I believe that private negotiations for ransom for captured family members will continue. The Tullys and their bannermen may scream over our false promises, but they will still want us to release our captives. Stop the payments."

When no one else dissented or raised any objections Tyrion told Emmon to stop the next shipment. Then for a while they discussed finances, and how much gold was being mined, and how much repairs to Lannisport were , costs for the army, and so on. There was enough money, but the treasury of Casterly Rock would be a might poorer when they finally won this war.

"And the crown still owes Casterly Rock three million from King Robert's reign," Emmon said in conclusion to his report.

"Robert's debt, not Tommen's," Cersei told them.

"Still, as Lord of the Rock, I would like to see it repaid," Tyrion told her. "But let us set that aside until the war is over," After it was agreed to, Emmon made a note in a ledger book he had open in front of him.

After all this the little King yawned and his eyes were growing heavy.

"It is time for the King to go to bed," Cersei said, about to stand up.

"In a moment," Tyrion said and she gave him a dirty look but then sat again. "There is just one major issue, and I need His Grace's approval."

"What is it?" Cersei asked, barely controlling her anger.

"We need to raise new levies."

Ser Kevan shook his head. "Already we at the limits of what we can afford to keep in the army. The more men we raise, the fewer are in the fields and shops and mines and fishing boats. Production would suffer. We cannot keep men under arms indefinitely. Morale is already suffering and many men are requesting leave to go home."

"Then we must hire sellswords," Lefford suggested.

Jaime snorted. "They will stab us in the back the first chance they get and take the Rock and all our wealth for themselves."

"Perhaps," Tyrion said. "Swords we need, but I have no intention of paying for them."

Jaime looked at him in puzzlement. "Then where are these swords to come from, brother?"

"I plan to reinstate the Sword and Stars."

Jaime just gaped at him. Cersei looked at him with surprise and then almost admiration, or at least it looked that way, as if she was really seeing him for what he was for the first time. Lefford shook his head and muttered "no". Emmon looked puzzled, as if he had no idea what Tyrion meant. Only Kevan grinned, and nodded, as if seeing what Tyrion was getting at.

"You are mad," Jaime finally said, shaking his head. "The Targaryens spent rivers of blood stamping out the militant sects ages ago. The Sword and Stars are dead and should stay that way."

"No," said Cersei suddenly, siezing on the idea. "He's right. It will divide our enemies."

"Indeed," said Kevan with a grin. "The most faithful will flock to Tommen's side."

"Especially when we spread word that Stannis plans to install the Lord of Light as the only religion in Westeros," Tyrion added.

"He'd never!" Emmon said in shock.

"He might," Lefford stated. "If the rumors of this red woman are true."

"Not rumors," Jaime said ruefully. "She killed Renly…and Father."

Cersei scoffed at him. "A shadow…do you still believe that?"

He glared at her. "I know what he said as he died. You weren't there. I was."

"As was I…Your Grace," said Kevan, staring at Cersei.

"Yes…well," Tyrion started again after an uncomfortable silence. "We must make it a royal decree. King Tommen will reinstate the Warrior's Sons and the Poor Fellows. Then…"

"Which is which?" Emmon asked and Tyrion just sighed. Didn't anyone read history?

Apparently Jaime did, at least some. "The Warriors Sons are the Sword, knights who renounce their lands and titles and take up arms to defend the Faith against the unfaithful. The Poor Fellows are the same, except they are armed smallfolk, not knights. They are the Stars."

Tyrion gave him a nod. "Well done. Both orders were disbanded by the Targaryens after they grew too powerful."

"How can we prevent that?" Jaime asked.

"Why we will do as the Targaryens did, brother. Once our war is won, we will disband them, this time before they grow too powerful. Any who refuse will get what the Targaryens gave them."

Jaime grinned. "Cold steel."

Just then they heard a soft snore and all looked at Tommen, who was fast asleep with his head on his arms on the table.

"Well," Tyrion replied. "I think that concludes our meeting. We will tell Tommen on the morrow. That is all for now my lords, and Your Grace. We will meet at the same time on the morrow."

They got up to leave and Jaime quickly moved to Tommen's side. "I will carry him to his bed," he told Cersei and she seemed about to protest but then simply nodded and let Jaime carry him away. For a moment she stood watching them and Tyrion almost detected a softness to her demeanor. She seemed about to depart but closed the door and turned and looked at Tyrion, who was still sitting at the table.

"I want you to do something for me," she said.

"The last time you started a conversation with those words you threatened to imprison or hang Bronn and myself."

She smiled, and that was unexpected. She really does want something. "What did you say not too long ago? What is in the past is done with?"

"Spare me any flattery, Cersei. I know you still despise me. Get to the point."

Her smile fell. "As you wish. I want Jaime back."

"I did not know he went anywhere."

"Still so clever. You know what I mean."

"What happened between you two?"

She stared at him and then sighed. "If I tell you…"

"Not a word to a soul."

"I…I…was unfaithful. He took it badly."

Tyrion almost laughed. "With Robert? He was your husband."

"No, you little worm, not with Robert…forget it!" She turned to leave but he stopped her with one word.

"Yes."

"What?"

"I will do as you ask. At least I will do my best to make him reconcile with you. I can't promise it will be the same as before. That much is up to you. You don't even have to tell me who you were sleeping with. But I want a favor in return."

"What favor?" she asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion again.

"You will never oppose me again. You will formally state to the court and the whole realm that I am the Lord of Casterly Rock and that my heirs will succeed me...when I have any heirs, that is."

For a long moment he thought she would refuse but then finally she just nodded. "Agreed. If you do as I ask."

"I shall do my best."

Cersei left then and Tyrion sat for a long few moments, alone with only the lit candles for company. Much he had accomplished in one day but much more still had to be done. There would be resistance to his measures, resistance from the lords over the hostages issue, resistance from Riverrun over the payments being stopped, and resistance to reinstating the Sword and Stars. And he never even got around to broaching marriage plans for Tommen and Myrcella. That would have to be discussed, and soon.

All that was in the future. Tyrion was home, and he was in his element again, in the seat of power and making decisions. But he also knew he had to tread carefully, as those decision could mean the difference between life and death for him and all those he loved.

Outside the doors he found Bronn leaning against the wall, arms crossed, seemingly without a care as usual.

"Good meeting?" the sellsword asked.

Tyrion nodded. "Better than I expected. Come, Bronn. I am the lord of this pile of stones now, and I am inviting you to get drunk with me. We have one of the finest wine cellars in all of the realm and I mean to tap into a few kegs tonight. Then we shall take the grand tour of the Rock, including the treasure vault. As promised, you will get your reward. You can take your pick of anything your eye fancies, as long as it is not a family heirloom."

"A bag or two of gold will do."

"Why not make it three or four? Chests, not bags."

He grinned. "I'll not say no to that. But perhaps we can keep them here for now till I get my own lands and coin vault."

"A wise decision."

They walked for a bit and then Bronn spoke. "Are we going to win?"

Tyrion looked at him. "We?"

"Aye, 'we', your bloody lordship. I'm just asking…cause, well, I am growing fond of the idea of my own lordship and lands and all. I'm getting on in years, if you hadn't noticed. Being a sellsword is a rough life. Like to settle down while I can. Hate to have to give it all up so soon after getting it."

"Yes, we will win, Bronn," Tyrion said with all the confidence he could muster. "Come, let us put such thoughts aside for the night. We will have plenty of time in the future to brood on our fates."

Drunk they got, and the tour they took, and the highlight was seeing Bronn's eyes go wide as he looked in the treasure vault, and then go wider when Tyrion told him this was just one of four such vaults buried deep in the Rock. But despite the drink and other distractions, Tyrion could not forget Bronn's words. He brooded on the same questions Bronn did. He wondered if they would win. He wondered if he would have time to settle down himself. He wondered if the gods would grant him one more chance to find love. He had loved once and lost it all when he found out his wife was not what he thought she was. And now another whore occupied his mind much of late. Did he love Shae? Perhaps. But he could never make her his wife, and that pained him very much. He was Lord of the Rock, Hand of the King, one of the most powerful men in the realm, and yet happiness still eluded him, and he thought maybe he would never find it again.


	45. Chapter 45 Eddard

**Ned Stark Lives! Chapter 45 Eddard**

All the news of the realm came to Winterfell eventually, by wing or on foot. News came from the raven letters of lords in the north, and also those in the south still friendly to Winterfell, especially from Riverrun, the Twins, and King's Landing. News also came from the mouths of riders coming up the Kingsroad. The words received spoke of the Lannister failure before the capital, of the Lannister army retreating, of the ironmen's attack on Lannisport, of Tyrion Lannister being named the Hand of the King again for the pretender Tommen, and even stranger still, his call for the Warrior's Sons and the Poor Fellows to be reinstated. That had little meaning for the North, where most men worshiped the old gods, and would never join the militant brotherhoods. But Ned Stark knew it meant trouble for the future, as the most faithful who followed the Seven would leave their lands and head west to join the Lannisters.

"A bold move," Robb said, as he sat next to his father in Ned's solar, reading the latest raven messages Maester William had brought them. It had been almost a moon's turn since Robb had killed Ramsey Snow, and had almost died himself. Had died, Ned corrected his thoughts. He had died, and Thoros of Myr had brought him back to the land of the living. Robb did not look any worse for his terrible journey, and Ned wondered on that.

After it was done, Ned had demanded answers from Thoros and Dondarrion and answers they gave him, and afterwards he wished he had not been so persistent. Thoros did not reveal how he had such powers, and would only say they were a gift from his god. They did reveal that Dondarrion had died several times, as was claimed by their enemies, and each time Thoros had brought him back. But Dondarrion was a shadow of his former self, pale and scarred, with little appetite and with no joy for the extended life the red god of Thoros had given him. They said Robb may not be so affected because during his brief moments of death Robb's soul had been inside his direwolf.

And Robb did seem like his old self, smiling and full of the life, enjoying what he was given back. Many in Winterfell looked at him in awe, the stories of his demise and resurrection soon well known, despite Ned's efforts to prevent the tale from spreading. Robb's young wife Roslin almost worshiped him in the way she looked at him and tended him and would hardly leave his side. Catelyn and Roslin had both bloodied their knees on the stone floor of the sept in prayer, a penance to their gods for letting Robb live. Or maybe they were trying hard to restore their own faith in the Seven after seeing what Thoros' god could do.

Ned had said his prayer of thanks as well, in the godswood, to the heart tree, to the old gods of the North. Ned did not believe in miracles. He believed that life in this world was balanced, and that for a man's good deeds he was rewarded and for his transgressions he was punished. Was his renewed life Robb's reward for being a good and kind man? Or was something more involved? Had Robb somehow cheated the gods of what was their due? As Ned sat there thinking deeply on all that had happened, he wondered if the gods would not some day come to claim their price for letting his son live. He had other sons, and daughters, and many others dear to him. Would the price for Robb's life come at the cost of another's?

"Father?" Robb said, looking at him strangely. Ned's mind came back to the present, to the raven scroll in Robb's hand. It was from Riverrun, and carried much news, mostly unpleasant. The Lannisters had stopped the latest shipment of gold, the Golden Tooth was strengthening its defenses, Harrenhal was under the command of the Mountain, Tyrion Lannister had called for the reinstatement of the militant sects, and King Tommen had signed the decree. Already six minor knights from the Riverrun region had painted the seven pointed star on their shields and were making their way west to Casterly Rock, Edmure Tully wrote.

"Aye, this is a bold move," Ned said at last. "It will divide those who would oppose the Lannisters."

"None of our northern men will join," Robb said with conviction.

"No…but there are those in the Twins and White Harbor who worship the Seven. Some will go, especially those without land or titles awaiting them. Second and third sons, hedge knights, and free riders."

"King Stannis must renounce this!" Robb declared.

"Aye, I am sure he will," Ned answered. "But that will do little good. The Targaryens did the same but the militant orders still carried on."

"The Imp is too clever for his own good…or the realm's," Robb said with worry. "These orders could grow powerful again."

"The Imp is clever, we always knew that. Devious as well. He is grasping at anything that will keep his family in the game. It just might work."

"What can we do?"

"Nothing. Winter is coming and I will not lead our men south again before spring."

"Maybe the ironmen will strike Lannisport again."

"Balon Greyjoy is dead," Ned reminded his son. They had word of that as well, and of how Theon had reached Deepwood Motte and how he and his sister and their men had escaped from the advancing Glovers, but not before burning the wooden fortress to the ground. Already the Glovers were rebuilding, but all they could hope to raise before the snows came would never equal the greatness of the Motte. "The ironmen are squabbling over the succession," Ned continued. "If what we hear is true, Euron Crow's Eye has returned and will not give up his claim, even though Theon and Asha still live."

"Theon and his sister will join the fight," Robb said. Then he let loose a curse. "Damn his very soul! We should have had his head on the walls of Winterfell!"

"Aye…and maybe we will some day…or perhaps his uncles will do us the favor."

Robb snorted. "Having another man kill your enemy…there is no joy in that."

Ned looked at him carefully. "My son…no man should take joy from killing. You, who have been closer to death than any of us, you above all should know that."

Robb nodded. "Aye, Father. Just…he was my friend…almost like a brother. And he betrayed us."

"And the gods will judge him for it justly. Just like they are judging Ramsey Snow now in whatever hell they reserve for rapists and murderers."

Ramsey's body had been taken by Lord Bolton and his men immediately after the fight. By dawn the next day they were gone, without even a word of goodbye or anything else to anyone in Winterfell. In the several weeks since, there had been nothing but silence from the Dreadfort. Ned knew Roose was angered. How much, only time would tell.

Lord Umber and his men still stayed at Winterfell. They were still finishing the repairs on the winter town, and awaiting the return of their men who had gone west with the Glovers to help reclaim Deepwood Motte. Once his men returned the Greatjon told Ned it was high time he and his men returned home before the snows came. Ned gave him leave to go whenever his wished.

As Ned and Robb sat mulling over this latest news a knock came to the door.

"Come," Ned said and Arya entered. She was dressed in her boy's clothes and had a wooden practice sword strapped to her belt. She was sweating and had dirt on her hands. Ned knew she had been teaching Sansa and Jeyne how to fight in the courtyard below.

"How goes the training?" Ned asked before she could speak.

"Ah…not too bad. Father, Ser Rodrik has returned!" she blurted out.

"Thank the gods," Robb said. They rose at once and followed Arya outside to join a growing crowd of people. The sky was grey and the ground was muddy from rains they had had yesterday. The wind was cold and everyone was bundled up in warm furs and leathers. There standing by his horse was the great bulk of Ser Rodrik, with many of his men nearby, being greeted warming by many, including Catelyn and Sansa and Bran and Rickon, and especially his daughter Beth. As Ned approached, Rodrik dipped his head.

"My lord," he said and as he raised his head Ned could see he was troubled.

"Welcome home, my friend," Ned answered as he reached out his hand. With what seemed like reluctance Ser Rodrik took it.

"My lord…I must apologize for my failures."

That took Ned aback for a second and then he realized what he meant. "Come now. There was no failure. You did as you thought right."

"I should have been here when they came, my lord," Rodrik said.

"There is no one to blame but the ironmen," Catelyn told him.

"Especially Theon Greyjoy," Robb added.

"He burned Winterfell and killed many including Maester Luwin. Now I hear he got away. Is it all true, my lord?" Rodrik asked, hoping it was not.

"Aye, it is," Ned told him. "Galbart Glover wrote that his people saw Theon with his sister and her men, fleeing the burning Motte and making for their ships nearby. Come, let us have food and drink and tell us all that happened."

And so they ate and drank and Rodrik and his men told all about their battles at Torrhen's Square, and the search for the ironmen. They had joined up with Lady Mormont's men and had sent large parties into the Wolfswood and west as far as the Stony Shore. They had found several fishing villages that had been plundered, most of the men put to the sword and the women and children who had not fled hauled away as captives. After that Lady Mormont and her people turned north to head for Deepwood Motte to search for Greyjoy and then they would go home to Bear Island. Ser Rodrik helped the survivors of the fishing villages as best he could, but knew there was naught else they could do about the ironmen, who were long gone, and so they turned back to Winterfell. They were saddle and footsore, and their provisions had barely held out.

Ned thanked them all for their service and promised their good work would not be forgotten by the people of the North. And then Ned and Robb and the rest told their own stories, of all that had gone on in the south and at Winterfell, including Robb's fight with the Bastard of the Dreadfort. When Rodrik heard that Ramsey Snow had caused more trouble but was now dead he shook his head in disgust.

"I should have killed that bastard myself!" he said with anger.

"You did what you thought was right," Ned replied. "He was Roose's son. You could not have killed him without dire consequences."

"Aye," Rodrik replied heavily. "Still…he got away and did more evil."

"That was Greyjoy's fault," Robb told him. And then they talked long into the night on what was happening on the Iron Islands and what it would mean for the people of the North.

That night as Ser Rodrik and his men finally retired to their homes, Ned was returning to the Great Keep when he came across Thoros and Dondarrion at their nightly ritual. The fire was already lit and Thoros was saying his prayers as those around him repeated his words. Dondarrion's men were here, as were several Winterfell people, and Ned knew they had been drawn to Thoros and his god because of what had happened to Robb. Among them was Gendry.

The young blacksmith hung about at the fringes of the group and did not repeat the words of Thoros, but he listened and watched it all. Ned had heard Arya say Gendry was spending time with Thoros and Dondarrion, and she had also told Ned that they knew he was Robert's son. Dondarrion's men who had left King's Landing on Ned's orders to bring the Mountain to justice had been a mix of the north and south, following the old gods and the new, but now all of these survivors were followers of the Lord of Light. Ned tolerated the nightly rituals, for the debt he owned Thoros for his son's life. Catelyn disapproved, he knew, but she did not ask him to try to stop the rituals, perhaps for the same reasons.

But others muttered their disapproval more loudly, and there had been arguments over religion while men were in their cups during the evenings. To forestall any fights or even bloodshed, one evening at supper Ned had to tell an assemblage in the great hall of Winterfell that all religions were to be tolerated and that each one of them had the right to choose their own faith but not to impose it on any others. Anyone who disagreed could make their home somewhere else. As expected, not one left.

Ned walked up to Gendry as the ceremony continued. "Evening, lad."

Gendry turned, a bit startled, and dipped his head. "My lord."

They were silent for a few minutes as Thoros spoke on. Ned watched the fire and could see nothing but fire. Arya had told him what Thoros had said the night before Robb and Ramsey had fought, of the images he had seen in his fire. Ned knew there was something behind what Thoros could do, his living son proof of that beyond any doubt. Magic, or the power of the gods, Ned knew not. But it was there still the same.

"You follow the old gods, do you not, my lord?" Gendry asked him.

"Aye, as do many in the North," Ned replied. "My wife tells me you follow the Seven."

"Yes, but I was never very…ah…I don't know…how to say…"

"Devout?"

"Yes…I think that's the word. My mum followed the Seven and so did I but I never knew much more than the names of the gods. When I became an apprentice I would say a small prayer to the Smith to help me in my work but that was all."

"I think many men are the same," Ned replied.

"Not Thoros."

"No, not him," Ned said. "Arya tells me you have been spending time with Thoros and Dondarrion."

"Yes, my lord." Then Gendry looked about to make sure no one was nearby and listening. He lowered his voice. "They have been telling me about my father."

So that was it. "Good things, I trust?"

Gendry laughed slightly. "Mostly drinking stories, my lord. But also about the rebellion and Pyke and some tourneys he was in."

"Aye, he loved to drink and war and fight," Ned told him with a chuckle. He could have added 'whore' to that list, but the lad knew that well enough already. "He was a good friend to all, and loved with all his heart, but he was an implacable enemy if you lost his favor."

"Like the Targaryens?"

"Aye…them above all," Ned said, his mood turning grim again as he thought on what the Targaryens did to his family.

"My lord…Thoros tells me that he believes the Lannisters killed my father."

Ned sighed. "Aye…I believe so as well. They did not rip his stomach open but they did all they could to make sure he died. Varys the Spider warned me they meant to kill him, but we had no real proof. And then I was hurt and he went hunting and…"

"He died."

"Aye. That day, he was drunker than usual, Barristan Selmy later told me. It was the strong wine, no doubt. Given to him by a Lannister. Lancel Lannister, cousin of the Queen."

"But they did not make the boar charge him, my lord."

"No, that was luck…for the Lannisters. They could say he died in an accident. If the boar had not done the deed they would have found another way. Another accident."

"But…why?"

Back on the Kingsroad after they had left King's Landing Ned had promised him someday he would tell him and Ned knew it was time. "Because of my own stupidity, and Jon Arryn's. We started asking questions."

"About me," Gendry said with a heavy sigh.

"Aye…and his other natural children, and about who the real father of Cersei's children was."

"The Kingslayer," Gendry said in disgust.

Ned nodded. "I knew the truth and I was going to tell Robert when he returned from his hunt. But the gods took him away and…I am sure you know the rest."

"Aye," Gendry said. They were silent for a few moments, still watching the fire and half listening to Thoros and his followers. "Arya…she told me things, my lord. About the Kingslayer…and Bran."

Ned ground his teeth in anger as he thought on that. "It's all true. The Kingslayer tried to murder him. And later paid someone with a knife to finish the job. Or Cersei did it. One of them. I have written to King Stannis and all the other great lords. They all know now. When we win this war, the Kingslayer will pay for his crime. As will the rest of them."

Suddenly they heard a voice behind them. "There you are!" Arya said as she came into the circle of light. She was looking at Gendry and seemed mad. "I waited for you!"

"What's this?" Ned asked before Gendry could answer.

"My lessons, my lord," Gendry replied. "Sorry," he said to Arya, seemingly abashed at the rebuked.

"I can't teach you if you don't come!" Arya said in a huff. "And now it's too late to start!"

"There is always tomorrow, my daughter," Ned told her. "Don't be mad at the lad. I kept him here. We had to talk on things."

"Oh," Arya said, her tone softening. "Talk on what?" she asked, a bit worried.

"About my father," Gendry told her. They hadn't been talking that long, Ned knew, and maybe Gendry had just forgotten about his lessons. Or maybe he hadn't wanted to learn his letters and how to read today.

"Oh," Arya said again, this time with some relief in her voice. "Good. I mean…yes, it's good to know about him. I guess we can have our lesson tomorrow."

"Time for bed," Ned told his daughter and after they said good night to Gendry they made their way to the Great Keep.

"How goes his lessons?" Ned asked her as they climbed the dark stairs, Ned carrying a torch to light the way.

"Slow," she said with a hint of frustration. "He's busy working all day and the only time he can study is at night."

"Give him time."

"I will."

"And what about Sansa and Jeyne."

She rolled her eyes. "Very slow. They are still being silly. Not as much as before, but it will take forever."

"Be patient, with all of them. I know you can do it."

They reached her bedroom and then after he helped her light a candle with his torch, Ned said goodnight, kissed her cheek, and he made his way to his own rooms. The room was already lit with many candles so he placed the torch in a wall bracket and blew it out. Inside, Cat was standing by the window, the shutters opened, as she looked out over the courtyard. The room was very chilly from the cold air entering the window.

"Thoros is done," she said as she closed the window. "The fire is out."

He could hear the disapproval in her tone. "I cannot send him away or deny him the right to worship, Cat."

"I know…and we owe him much. But it will cause more problems."

"I have dealt with that already." Ned sat on his bed and removed his boots.

"Perhaps," she said and then crossed the floor and sat beside him. "Ned…how long will they stay?"

"As long they wish," he replied, unwittingly using his stern lord's voice. "Sorry. But I sent them from King's Landing to do a task and I feel responsible for them."

"They have their own homes, in the south, do they not?"

"Aye, that they do. Maybe they will head south again, now the battles are over around King's Landing. Stannis is calling for men. Perhaps they can return to King's Landing and enter his service."

"Stannis will welcome Thoros," Catelyn said. "They worship the same god. Perhaps you can suggest it to Thoros. And Dondarrion. The rest will follow them."

"The road they took here was long and hard," Ned reminded her. "They will go when they are ready."

"They best go before the snows come. It is getting bitterly cold already."

"Aye, that it is. Come, let us to bed and keep each other warm this night."

She smiled and then stood. "My rooms are warmer." She took his hand and then Ned followed her and spent a sweet night in his lady's arms.

The next morning he awoke alone. He was about to sit up when he heard a retching sound of someone being sick. He swiftly got out of bed and saw his wife bent over her chamber pot, being ill.

"Cat? What is it?" he asked in worry

"I…I am just a little ill," she gasped. He brought her a cup of water from a flagon on the nearby table and she eagerly drank it down.

"When did this start?" Ned asked her.

She looked at him. "This is the third time this week."

"Gods," Ned said. He knew what it meant. "Why didn't you tell me?"

She managed a weak smile. "I was not sure."

"I will get the maester."

An hour later and Maester William confirmed what they suspected. "She said her last moon blood was over a month ago, my lord," he told Ned outside in the corridor by the stairs, while inside Cat slept in her bed. "Almost two months ago."

"Aye," he said, trying to remember. "That was about the time we were in Riverrun."

"Not to worry, my lord. She is strong, and still young enough to bear a child."

Ned nodded, but still worried. "She is not so young as the last time. It has been five years since she had Rickon."

"I have brought many children into the world, my lord. And there are midwives here as well. We will take good care of her. You should be feeling proud about this, my lord. The gods have blessed you with another child."

Ned smiled this time and clapped the maester's shoulder. "Aye…I suppose we should tell the children."

Just as he said these words Robb came up the stairs and saw them. "Maester. I need your help," he said without even a good morning. "My wife is ill."

Ned went with them to Robb's bedroom. Roslin was lying abed and looked pale. After a few minutes of questioning, they got the truth from her as well. "It seems you are to become a father, Lord Robb," the maester told him outside the room.

Robb gulped and appeared stunned. "A father?"

Ned grinned. "Aye. A father."

Robb smiled and then laughed and his face beamed. "I suppose that will make you a grandfather," he said to Ned.

"Gods," Ned replied, suddenly feeling very old. "Listen…I have news of my own. Your mother is with child as well."

For the second time Robb seemed shocked. "With child?" he gasped as he looked to the maester for confirmation.

"Aye," the maester said. "The gods have seen fit to bless you both on this fine day."

As their wives rested Ned and Robb gathered the other children in Arya's room, which was the biggest.

"What's going on?" Sansa asked in a sleepy voice. They were all still wearing their bed clothes. Bran was the last to come, carried in Robb's strong arms. Robb placed him on Arya's bed beside his sister.

"We have good news," Ned began. "Roslin is with child."

Their eyes widened with surprised but before they could say a word Robb shocked them even more. "And so is mother."

Rickon was the first to speak in the shocked silence that followed. "I want a brother!"

They all started laughing at once and then talked on it for a long time, with Ned saying their mother and Roslin needed rest and help with everything and they were to behave themselves and cause no trouble in the months to come. They all promised to behave.

The news spread quickly and Ned and Robb could hardly move about the castle without someone congratulating them and praising the gods. The Greatjon demanded they get drunk and that night the great hall rang with shouts of joy and blessings and prayers for the good health of the two Stark wives. Ned drank so much he even found himself saying a toast to Thoros' red god. Everyone was there, and Ned even invited Gendry to drink with them, and for once the boy got drunk. Thoros challenged him to a drinking contest, but Gendry was no Robert, who had years of experience at such games, and soon the lad was asleep at the table.

The next morning found Ned with his head hanging over the chamber pot in his rooms. "Gods," Cat said from the doorway. "You northerners and your drink. I suppose Robb is in no better shape?"

"Aye," Ned said and then he retched one more time.

"Enough with the drink," Cat said as she poured him some water. "I suppose the Greatjon is to blame. I heard him bellowing even from my rooms."

She handed him the water. He drank and then made a face. "Ale…I need ale. My head is pounding."

"No, you will suffer this day and that will be a lesson to you."

"Enough with the scolding, woman," Ned told her as he sat on the floor besides his bed. "I was celebrating your condition."

"My condition?" she snapped at him. "I am not yet even three months along, Ned, and neither is Roslin. It is bad luck to celebrate so soon."

"You have never lost a child," he reminded her.

"My sister did, and so have other women. The gods have been good to us. Let us not mock them now."

Ned nodded. "Aye. There will be no more celebrating. Perhaps you should be abed."

She snorted. "I am with child, not at death's door. I have a castle to run. And you have your duties, my lord. Get up, get cleaned, and eat some food. And no ale!"

It was an hour before he could stir himself from his rooms. A basin of cold water helped clear his head and a change of clothing helped a little more. The day was cold and the skies a bit overcast. He made his way to the great hall and the hubbub of noise there made his head wince. As he sat alone Osha approached him.

"What will my lord have for his breakfast?" she asked.

"A mug of ale," he said at once.

She grunted. "Your wife has already been here, my lord, and ordered us not to give you any ale or wine or mead."

"I am the Lord of Winterfell," he almost shouted at her. "You will do as I command."

"And your wife is the Lady of Winterfell," Osha shot back. "She has left her orders and all the kitchen staff know."

"Damn your eyes, all of you," Ned growled. "Get me some bacon and eggs and bread then."

She walked away and Ned had only a few seconds of peace before Arya came striding with a purpose right up to him. "Sit," he commanded.

"No," she said in a cross voice. "Gendry is a mess this morning. You got him drunk."

"Don't shout, child," he replied, wincing in pain. "The lad is old enough to know when to stop drinking."

"Then it stops now," she said with determination.

"As you wish. Arya…go to the kitchens and get me a mug of ale, for pity's sake."

"Mother told us not to get you anything for your head," she said and then walked away.

"Gods," Ned swore as he sat there. His food came and it helped to settle his stomach but his head was still pounding. But peace did not come as Robb and the Greatjon came into the hall and came to his table. They looked better than when he had last seen them heading for Lord Umber's camp last night.

"Lord Umber has a keg of ale in his camp," Robb told him. "One mug this morning and I feel much better."

"My lady wife wishes me to suffer," Ned told them and the Greatjon stood. "I will fetch you drink, not to worry, Ned."

But Cat was behind them and had heard it all. "Lord Umber, you will do no such thing."

"Lady Stark, a man in Ned's condition needs one more drink the day after to clear his head."

"Perhaps. But not before he reads this," she said and then Ned noticed the look of worry on her face. In her hands was a raven scroll message, already opened.

"Who from?" Ned asked swiftly.

"Maester Aemon at Castle Black."

"Jon?" Ned said, his voice almost breaking.

"Read," was all she said, her tone neutral.

Ned took the message and lay it flat on the table. Robb crowded behind him and looked over his shoulder. The writing was small and Ned had to peer closely to read it.

_Lord Eddard Stark. I have grave news. The Wall at Castle Black is under attack by wildlings, and maybe soon by the Others as well. This is no raid, my lord, but a full scale assault. Lord Mormont set out with over 300 men to the Fist of the First Men to find out where the wildlings were. His Rangers found them, massing in large numbers. Then the Others attacked, according to the survivors reports. They had to retreat. Lord Mormont was killed by his own men when they tried to find refuge at Craster's Keep. Only a dozen men returned. Jon Snow came in a few days later, his leg wounded, but he is on the mend. I gave the command of the Wall to him. There was no one else. He came in from the south after climbing over the Wall with a wildling raiding party. He claims he killed Qhorin Halfhand at the Halfhand's own command, and joined the wildlings. He learned Mance Rayder's plans and escaped when he could. They have almost 20,000 men, women and children, plus many giants and mammoths with them. We have held off the first few assaults, from north and south. But we are hard pressed and need men. The Shadow Tower is also under attack, and Eastwatch may soon be as well. Even if we defeat the wildlings, the Others will come. Send help. May the gods save us. Maester Aemon, Castle Black._

"Gods," Ned said after he finished. "The Others."

"It can't be true," Robb said, his voice betraying his own shock.

The Greatjon snatched the letter from the table and read fast. "The Others?" he said in skepticism. "The maester has lost his wits!"

"Not Maester Aemon," Ned replied. "He would not say it was the Others unless he was certain."

Cat sat with them. "These men who returned," she began. "They said it was the Others. Maester Aemon was not there."

"Aye," the Greatjon said. "They panicked under a wildling attack. Killed their own commander! Cravens, I call them all! They are spouting lies to cover their own crimes!"

"Never mind the Others," Robb said suddenly. "The wildlings pose enough danger. Lord Umber, your lands are closest to the Wall. If the wildings are south of the Wall…"

"We will kill them all!" the Greatjon said as he slammed his fist on the table, causing the dishes to rattle and the few other late breakfasters to look their way.

"We must keep this quiet for now," Ned told them in a more quiet tone, his head hurting more from the Greatjon's noise. "Robb, get Thoros and Dondarrion and Ser Rodrik. And Maester William. Tell him to bring his inks and parchment. Tell them to meet us in my solar as soon as they can."

"Aye," Robb said and soon he was gone.

Ned looked to the Greatjon. "I am sending you on your way home, Jon. As soon as you can. Return to your camp and prepare."

"As you command, my lord," the Greatjon said with a grin. Then his face fell a bit. "My men will need supplies for the road."

"Aye," Ned answered. "My steward will see to your needs. When the rest of your men return from the west they will rest a few days and then I will send them on as well."

"Aye, my lord," the Greatjon said and then he was up and gone as well.

Ned looked at Cat. "May I have…"

But she was already ahead of him. "Osha!" she shouted to the passing wildling woman. "A mug of ale for Lord Stark."

"Are you sure, my lady?" Osha asked.

"She's sure," Ned snapped at her and Osha dipped her head and hurried to the kitchens. He wondered what the wildling women did to punish their men who drank too much. Maybe they took mercy on them and just cut off their heads.

As they waited for her to return Catelyn looked at him. "What will you do?"

"You know what I must do."

Catelyn shook her head. "No, Ned…we just arrived home. The children need you here. I am with child, I…"

"And what will I say to my children when the wildlings and the Others are at the gates of Winterfell? Close your eyes, it will hurt less?"

"Wildlings? Others?" said Osha as she placed a mug of ale on the table. She had brought a flagon as well. Ned snatched up the mug and drank deeply and nothing ever tasted so good. He quickly refilled his mug

"We have had news from the north," Catelyn was telling Osha. "Castle Black is under attack by your kind."

"My kind?" the wildling woman snorted. "They are not my kind anymore. But what was that about the Others?"

Ned stared at her, his head clearing now, and now he remembered that she knew much about the Others. "Sit," he commanded and she did. "Maester Aemon said there are reports of the Others attacking the Night's Watch."

She grunted. "Now do you believe me…my lord?"

"Aye," Ned said, his face set in his grim way. "That's why you're coming with us."

She blanched. "With you? To the Wall? No thank you, my lord. I ran away from there to get away from that lot. You must be mad to think I want to go back there."

"You wanted to be a spear woman again. Now's your chance."

She thought on it. "Spear woman? Not a servant?"

"Aye."

But then she quickly shook her head. "I got no love for mine or those with blue eyes. But I'm no fool either. You should go, but go south, not to the Wall."

"Yes!" Catelyn said, seizing on Osha's idea.

"That's not our way," Ned told them both. "If we flee, what's to stop the Others from taking over the North? What will stop them if we go south?" Ned asked. "Soon they will be south as well. No, we will fight them at the Wall. That's why it was built."

"Gods," Catelyn said, with a shake of her head and she knew Ned would not change his mind. And then she looked at Osha, a fierce light in her eyes now. "Go with him, I beg of you. Help them, teach them how to defeat the Others."

"I can tell you all that here," she answered, looking at Ned.

Ned stared at her and then nodded. "Aye. I will not force you to go. You saved my sons and have wiped the slate clean of your previous crimes and have your freedom. Come with me now to my solar to tell my commanders all you know."

A short while later the three of them were in the solar with Robb, Rodrik, Thoros and Dondarrion. "Is it true?" Ser Rodrik asked right away and Ned guessed Robb told them all.

Ned handed Rodrik the message and he read it aloud for the benefit of the others,

"May the Lord of Light protect them," Thoros said solemnly when he had finished. Catelyn sucked in her breath and looked at him sharply and added. "The Seven as well."

"And the old gods," Ser Rodrik said, also giving Thoros a sharp look.

"We need all of the gods' help if we are to stop the wildings and the Others," Ned answered them. "I will lead a strong party of men to Castle Black," he then announced. "The Greatjon and his men will leave by tomorrow at the latest. When the rest of us are ready we will head north. We will carry supplies and arms for the Night's Watch plus our own provisions, so we must take many wagons as well. Maester William, you will send messages to all of the lords of the north requesting aid as well."

"Including Lord Bolton?" the maester asked.

"Aye, including him," Ned replied. And if he did not answer he would be branded a traitor to his lord and perhaps after this business at the Wall was finished Ned would turn his force and deal with the Dreadfort once and for all. But that was in the future. "Tell them all to send men and arms to Castle Black, except for Deepwood Motte and White Harbor. The Glovers are to send their men to the Shadow Tower. Ask Galbart to try to get some of the hill tribesmen to join him. And Lord Manderly can send his men by ship to Eastwatch, if the seas are not too stormy. You must also write to Lady Mormont that we have had word her brother is dead. Tell her all we know and that we will send more news when we get it."

"Yes, my lord," said the maester and he sat at Ned's solar table and began to write the letters at once.

"Fierce fighters they are, those hill tribesmen," Ser Rodrik stated. "We could use some of them with us at Castle Black as well."

Ned looked at him. "My old friend, you have marched far and have fought valiantly. But now I need you and the men you returned with to stay here. To protect Winterfell."

Ser Rodrik looked like he was about to protest but then just nodded "As you command, my lord."

Then Ned turned to Thoros and Dondarrion. "I am not your liege lord, but I need good men with battle experience to help us in this time of need. I would ask you to lend your swords to our cause."

"You have mine," Dondarrion said at once.

"And mine," Thoros added.

"Good," Ned said and finally he looked at Robb. "You will be my second in command."

"Aye, Father."

Catelyn looked like she had a protest on her lips but said nothing. Now Ned turned to Osha, who had stood in the back the whole time and said nothing. The others had looked at her oddly when she first came in and now Ned explained why she was here.

"Osha is of the people north of the Wall. She…"

"The free folk," Osha interrupted.

"The wildlings, she means," Ser Rodrik said with a snort. "Free folk? Free to die in the cold and snow."

"We ain't dead yet, old man," Osha said to him. "Mance ain't leading no group of southern knee benders against your Wall, now is he?"

"Stop this bickering at once," Ned said with a low growl. "Osha is here to advise us on how to deal with her people and the Others."

And so she spoke, on how to use fire on the Others and the freshly dead, even the horses, and told them of the dragon glass that Maester Luwin had said was the stone called obsidian. About the wildlings all she could say was that giants were slow and dumb, the mammoths as well, but they both had great strength. Mance more than likely had few disciplined men, but with such numbers perhaps that did not matter.

"The Wall will keep them out," Robb said with confidence.

"Have you been there?" Osha asked him.

"Ah…no."

"I have climbed it and crossed it," she said. "Aye, it's high and it's treacherous but it can be done. And not all them old abandoned castles is guarded so well anymore. There is plenty of ways over and even under the Wall. Mance was a black brother once. He knows all the ways."

"She speaks true," Ned told them. "That is all for now. Let us prepare as fast as we can. The men of the Night's Watch need our help as soon as possible."

The news spread rapidly throughout Winterfell. Soon the castle was bustling as men and women prepared food and arms and wagons to carry them in. The smithy rang with the sound of hammers on steel. Horses needed to be shod, steel armor repaired, and swords and spear points forged and repaired as well.

By the late afternoon, the Greatjon was ready to go but it was too near dark and Ned told him to wait until the morning. The next morning dawned with a sharp blue sky and brisk coldness to the air. Ned gave Lord Umber his last orders and soon the Umber men were following their lord to the Kingsroad and then north.

The rest of the day was spent in making the last preparations and making last goodbyes. Ned was determined to leave on the morrow, and had to make sure all was ready by then. He could muster almost seven hundred men in and around Winterfell. He would leave two hundred behind to defend the castle, mostly Ser Rodrik's men, and take the rest with him. Plus he took almost forty wagons loaded with provisions and fresh arms for the Wall. Hopefully, the other lords could send a few hundred men each and that would be enough to help hold the Wall for now.

There was one more thing Ned needed to do. He had to write to King Stannis and the southern lords and tell them his situation. As he walked across the courtyard on his way to the maester's tower, Gendry approached him. Despite the cold air the lad was sweaty and grimy from being hard at work.

"My lord," he began with a dip of his head. "I want to come with you. To the Wall."

Ned stared at him. "Why?"

"You'll need an armorer."

"Aye, but they have an armorer there already."

"Might be they'll need more, my lord, with so many men coming there."

"Could be. But Arya will never forgive me or you if I let you come."

"Could be."

"The answer is no," Ned told him strongly. "You stay here and do your work. I will not put you in harm's way again. And she would never forgive me if something happened to you."

He looked abash for a second and then got a stubborn cast to his face. Ned had seen that look often on Robert Baratheon's face. "I just want to see the Wall, my lord. I was going there in the beginning anyways. Before…before everything else happened."

"Aye and so was I. But the answer is still no. The Wall is not going anywhere, lad. When times are better you will see it. I promise. That's my final word."

"Aye, my lord," he said in a disappointed tone and then he turned and walked away.

Ned was still thinking on why he would want to go to the Wall and was just about at the maester's tower when Arya appeared at his side. "Take me with you to the Wall," she said in a low voice.

"Seven hells," Ned said as he rounded on her. "Not you, too?"

"What? Who else asked?"

"First Gendry and now you!"

"I knew it! I knew he was going to ask you," she declared. "He said something about it last night. You said yes?"

"No! Of course I didn't. I knew you would hate me for it."

"Let us come. Please!"

He took her by the shoulders and stared at her. "Arya…the Wall is no place for you or Gendry. You have fought enough and are lucky to be alive, the both of you. I need you here, at Winterfell. You keep training the girls, and teaching Gendry his letters, and watch your mother and Roslin."

She kicked the dirt and then bit her lower lip. "I just wanted to see Jon…to thank him, too. For Needle."

"I can do that for you. Or you can write him a letter."

She brightened at that suggestion. "I will. Is he really commander of the Wall?"

"For now it seems," Ned told her. "Once things are more settled the Night's Watch will have a vote for a new commander. There are many older and more experienced men than Jon there."

After that she left him and he went in to see the master. They wrote a letter for King Stannis asking for aid and telling him what was happening. They also wrote to Riverrun and the Twins and the Vale and Ned asked them to pass the news to others further south. Ned debated on writing to Casterly Rock but knew Stannis would think ill of that so let it go. Finally, they wrote a long reply to Castle Black explaining what measures they had taken, telling them to be strong as help was on the way.

That night in the great hall the mood was somber as many of the men and boys would be gone by this time on the morrow. Ned rose from his seat and addressed all of the people in his lord's voice.

"Once more we must leave to fight our foes," he began. "Through the long history of the North, Winterfell has sent aid to the Wall in time of need. It pains me to take these men away from their families after being home such a short time. But if we do not send aid to our brothers on the Wall, soon the wildings and maybe even the Others will go where they will in the North. We will do our duty once more." He picked up his mug of ale and raised it high. "For the North!" And they all raised their cups and mugs and shouted in return, "FOR THE NORTH!"

Dawn came too soon and for what may be the last time Ned Stark lay in his wife's bed. He sat up on the side and for a long moment he just sat there, not wanting to move but knowing he had to. She sat up and held him from behind and kissed the nape of his neck. "You come back to me," she whispered, her breath hot on his ear. "You don't do anything foolish. Remember you still have young children here who need their father. And one more to come."

"Aye, my lady," he said and he turned and kissed her lips. "I will do as you command." And then once more he took her in his arms and they made love and when they were sated, he finally rose and washed and dressed and left her rooms as she rested.

As he walked down the stairs of the Great Keep he stopped on the landing where his children's rooms were. He first knocked on Sansa's door and she bid him enter.

She was sitting on her bed in her bed clothes with her long auburn hair flowing over her shoulders and Ned could tell she had been crying. "Good morning," he said, feeling awkward.

"Good morning, Father," she said in a thick voice and then her pretense cracked and she sobbed and he rushed to her side and held her close as he sat on the bed.

"Hush my child," he said in soothing tones. "We will be back before you know it."

"I know," she said in a less than convincing tone.

"And when I return it will be high time I found you a husband," he said next and that surprised her.

"A husband? Who?" she asked as she wiped away her tears.

He hadn't really thought on that yet. "Is there anyone you fancy?"

She hesitated a second and then shook her head. "No…no one."

"Well…there are plenty of young noble men in the North that would be honored to have your hand. I will sound out the other lords and soon find you a match. Would you like that?"

She nodded. "But I must meet him first and get to know him and see if he is a man of honor or a…a monster."

He knew who she meant. "I did not know what he was when I matched you to Joffrey, my daughter."

"I know. But I will not make the same mistake again. Ever. I'd rather be a septa or a silent sister or marry a blacksmith!"

"You think marrying a blacksmith is so bad?" Arya said from the doorway, her face and tone angry.

"I didn't mean…no, sorry," Sansa quickly said. Then she grew angry as well. "And what are you doing listening at my door?"

"Looking for Father," Arya shot back. "I heard his voice."

"Stop it. At once," Ned told his daughters in his lord's voice. "Arya, come here. Sit."

Arya sat on his other side on the bed. "Now I want you two to get along while I am gone," Ned told them, looking from one to the other. "No fighting, no bothering your mother, and no foolishness. You are to help look after Bran and Rickon as well. You do as your mother tells you. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Father," they both said.

"Good. Now I want to go see your brothers before I leave and then we will see you for breakfast."

"Wait," Arya said and she pull out a letter from her pocket. "My letter for Jon."

Ned took it and then they left Sansa so she could dress. Arya went downstairs while he went to Bran and Rickon's rooms. As soon as he opened Rickon's door the little boy ran into his arms, laughing and giggling. Ned carried him to Bran's room across the hall.

"Will Bran ever walk?" Rickon asked before they opened the door.

Ned sighed. "No, he will not."

"But Jojen said he will fly, right?"

Ned raised his eyebrows. "Is Bran a bird?"

Rickon laughed. "No, silly!"

"Then he will not fly." He set Rickon down and went to open the door but it opened and Hodor was there, carrying Bran. "I will take him," Ned told Hodor and the big stable boy said his usual, "Hodor" and handed Bran to his father. Rickon and Hodor ran down the stairs ahead of them.

Ned could feel that Bran was getting bigger and heavier. "I will fly," he whispered as they walked down the stairs. Ned stopped and stared at his son in his arms. "Jojen says I will fly, Father."

"Just dreams, my son."

"Dreams that come true," Bran replied. "You are going to the Wall. Take me with you. Send word to Jojen and Meera to met us there."

He shook his head. "No. The Wall is no place for a …a boy."

"You mean a crippled boy, don't you?"

Ned hesitated and then nodded. "Aye, my son. I am sorry, but there it is."

"How will we ever know if I can fly if I don't go to the Wall?"

"There is a war at the Wall, Bran. Your brother Jon has been hurt. Many men have died. It is no place for children. I have said what I will say and ask me no more of this."

It was a bitterly cold, dull overcast day outside the warmth of the castle walls. Breakfast came and went and few words were said as once more the Stark men and many others were off to war. Catelyn put on a brave face and Roslin was trying as well, not nearly so well, not being so experience with this fact of their hard life.

And then it was time to leave. In a short time the wagons and men were assembled outside the East Gate and it seemed like all of Winterfell and the winter town was there to see them off. Many men were making final tearful goodbyes to family and friends. Ned was on the ground beside his horse, his family beside him. He said his goodbyes to his children, giving them all hugs. They were brave as well and tried not to cry but Sansa shed the first tear and then Arya did as well, and soon Rickon was sobbing and Sansa picked him up and hugged him. Only Bran did not cry, cradled in Hodor's big arms.

"Now Bran," Ned began. "While Robb and I are gone you are the Lord of Winterfell once more. But you listen to your mother and Ser Rodrik and Maester William. They know what is best."

"Aye, Father. I will do my best."

"I know you will," Ned told him and then he turned to his wife last. He hugged her tight and whispered he loved her and she did the same and then she shed one tear, quickly wiped it away, and then smiled. "Be well, my lord," she said.

"And you, my lady," Ned replied as he kissed her forehead and held her once more. He looked over the crowd and saw Gendry and gave him a nod which the big lad returned. Gage was there and Mikken and Old Nan and Jeyne Poole and Ser Rodrik and many others and all looked at him with love and respect and Ned knew they were his people and he was going to defend them as well as the brothers of the Night's Watch.

Behind him Roslin was saying goodbye to her brother Olyvar, who was squire to Robb. "Don't be stupid," she said to him. "Stay out of the fighting."

"I'm a squire. We don't fight," Olyvar assured her and then he mounted his horse after she kissed his cheek.

"I'll protect him," Robb told her and then they hugged once more and he kissed her, and she tried to fight it but soon began to cry. Ned could not help but be reminded of when he first went to war, Catelyn with Robb growing inside of her. Many tears had been shed then as well.

Robb hugged his mother once more as well and then mounted his horse. He rode to the head of the column where Thoros and Dondarrion and their men already awaited, with Olyvar riding behind him and Grey Wind loping after them. They had had to chain the other direwolves up to prevent them following Grey Wind.

As Ned was about to mount his horse someone came striding through the crowd. "Lord Stark!" Osha shouted.

The tall wildling woman was dressed all in furs and leathers and had a big spear in her hand and a short sword belted at her side. "I will come," she said. "But I have no horse."

"Ser Rodrik! Find her a horse!" Ned commanded and Rodrik moved off to obey. Ned looked at Osha. "Catch up when you can."

"Aye…my lord."

He was about to mount up and then stopped and looked at her. "Why did you change you mind?"

"Got tired of the kitchens," she answered. "Besides, a spear feels better in my hands than a knife."

"Spear woman you shall be from now on then," Ned told her and then he mounted his horse. After final goodbyes to his family, he rode to the head of the column and gave the order to move out.

Soon they reached the Kingsroad, and Ned turned his horse to the north and the long column of men and wagons followed. As he took one last look back at Winterfell, wondering if he would ever see it and his family again, a cold wind blew from the north, and a chill set into his bones. Ned looked up to the grey sky and then felt something soft and wet touch his face.

Robb was looking up as well. "It's starting to snow," he said.

"Aye," Ned replied to his son as he turned his grim face to the north. "Winter has come."

THE END

What the…? Yes, it is THE END…OF THIS PART! NED STARK LIVES! PART 2 IS NOW UP AND RUNNING!

But before you move on, a few comments.

I got the idea for this tale after I began reading A Clash of Kings again while waiting for Season Two on HBO to begin last spring. As I watched the new season my mind was set on fire by the idea of what would have happened if Ned had lived. And so comes this story. I plan to continue, with events in places people have asked me about, including the Wall and Slaver's Bay. My intention with this story was to write about what could have happened if Ned Stark had lived. As for the missing people and arenas of the tale, the more I thought about it, the events with Jon Snow at the Wall and Daenerys Targaryen in the east were not influenced very much by whether Ned lived or died. Not as much as what happened in southern Westeros, at least, so I stuck with what was happening there , with little mentions of the Wall and the east as I went along. Also, Dorne and the Vale were only on the side in this tale, so perhaps more will be shown about them in the future.

As I began to think about this story and what would happen I gave myself three goals to reach.

1. The Stark's reunite and return to Winterfell. All of them, alive.

2. Stannis Baratheon seizes the capital and the Iron Throne, but cannot win a total victory before winter comes.

3. The Lannisters are defeated, but not totally, and retreat to Casterly Rock. Joffrey and Tywin die, Tommen becomes King, and Tyrion becomes Hand of the King and Lord of the Rock.

From these three major premises, the rest grew in an organic fashion, coming to me sometimes before I wrote and sometimes as I was writing. Some things were logical, growing from events in previous chapters, such as Varys leaving Westeros when he finally realizes he has done all he can and is in danger from all factions. Others came to me because I wanted to explore what would happen. For example, Arya meeting Nymeria again and all of the direwolf stuff was not planned, it just happened, as I wanted to explore more of that dynamic of the story. Ramsey and Robb fighting to the death was not planned either and I racked my brain for a while thinking of a way to kill Ramsey and thought Ned just chopping off his head was kind of anti-climatic. And then I remembered Tyrion in the Vale and thought, why not have Ramsey asking for trial by combat? And so that's how some ideas came about.

I know everyone did not love all parts of the story. The deepest divisions came over Arya and Gendry…some of you loved it and others hated it. And well, I won't apologize. I had fun writing them interacting, and seeing how they would get along. Some people have said that the Stark's reaction to this romance was too modern, that Ned would never act that way. Maybe not. But I am a father with two daughters as well and thought about what I would do if my daughter fell for a man who was not exactly my idea of a perfect husband, even if he was kind and good to her…and I knew I would not object as long as she loved him. So Ned did not object either.

There were other complaints and even suggestions for ways the story could unfold (which I never follow…sorry). For the most part those of you who commented were kind and gave some good compliments and constructive criticism. I thank you all for that. And I also thank you all for reading and your support.

Steve, in Seoul, Korea


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